Emotional Endeavors
by kissmedraco
Summary: He wondered why she cared so much; she just wanted to see him smile.
1. Beginnings

**Disclaimer: I clearly don't own these characters. That pleasure belongs to the incredible J.K. Rowling.**

**A/N: Hello, hello, this is my first story, and I decided to make it a Draco story because I've got a slight (ok, HUGE) thing for him.**

**Read it if you can make it through (hopefully it's not that bad!) and let me know what you think. If you're cool.**

Willow couldn't remember ever being more nervous in her entire life, sitting alone in an empty compartment on the Hogwarts Express on the first of September. She could feel sweat pooling on the palms of her hands and she hastily wiped them off on her robes every few seconds. The farther the train rattled along as she stared out the misty window, the more her thoughts became jumbled in her brain.

It was bad enough being the new girl in school, but the thought of joining a group of people so closely knit together after what they all had gone through caused a shiver to run down her spine with frightful anticipation. She couldn't imagine anything bringing a student body closer than a war against the worst wizard in the history of magic; just a few months prior, the entirety of Hogwarts had worked together to help the famous Harry Potter finally defeat the Dark Lord, Voldemort. Willow did not grow up in Great Britain as the rest of the students had, but that didn't stop her from knowing exactly what had happened. Every wizard in the world knew of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and feared him just as much as the English and Irish wizards had. Not to mention the fact that the faces of all the heroes, both the tragic casualties and the war-scarred survivors, were plastered all over every wizard newspaper on the globe for weeks after the battle, some grinning never-endingly at the readers with relieved glints in their eyes and some shaking with silent sobs over the loss of their loved ones. Willow expected she knew even more than many had; her father was an Auror, a wizard who worked to catch and punish those who had become Dark. He specialized in the international field; for this reason, he, along with his wife and daughter, never stayed in one place for longer than a year. Willow had switched schools so many times that she never let herself become too attached to anyone, anywhere; she was entirely accustomed to receiving an owl from her parents halfway through the school year announcing their imminent move to someplace entirely different. She had moved from Switzerland to Egypt, from Mongolia to Canada, and everywhere else in between. Only now that Voldemort had finally been defeated did Willow's father, who was entirely loveable but a little too attached to his job, finally let loose and accept his long-called for retirement back home in England, where both he and Willow's mother had been brought up. They had moved back in the home where Willow had spent the first six months of her life, though she couldn't admit to remembering a thing about it, and Willow had received the promise that she would be able to stay at Hogwarts for the entirety of her seventh year. Although many aspects of this were exciting, as she hadn't been able to stay at any school for a whole year since she was thirteen and living in Alaska, she couldn't help but feel as if she wouldn't be welcome. Not to mention the fact that she had received word that she was going to have to go through the Sorting Ceremony during the Welcoming Feast in front of the whole school (with an entire group of first-years!) to determine which House she would be in, which made her flush with embarrassment just thinking about it.

Even just the short time spent at King's Cross Station was nerve-wracking; all around her, people were greeting each other warmly, embracing and telling jokes on the crowded platform, while she awkwardly stood alone after bidding farewell to her parents. After she had boarded the train, she walked past rows and rows of compartments, each full of students who clearly already knew each other and didn't seem to want an unknown stranger joining them on the long ride to school. She had finally found an empty spot to sit, and jealously watched as bundles of girls and boys walked past the open door, chattering happily amongst themselves and not giving her a second look. Only one boy walked alone as she had, his head turned perpetually towards the floor, making it impossible for Willow to see what he looked like. She could only notice that he was pale, with defined cheekbones, a thin jaw, and pale blonde, almost silvery hair. He didn't even glance up once, and his jaw was hardened, giving the impression that he was clenching his teeth. Willow couldn't help but wonder why he wasn't enjoying time with friends as all the other students were, and what had caused the unhappiness that was evident even without a good look at his face.

She forgot about the mysterious boy quickly though, as she stared outside at the landscape rushing by, lost in her own nervous thoughts. She didn't even notice when the pleasantly plump woman pushing a trolley of sweets poked her head through the compartment door and asked twice if she wanted anything before whisking the trolley away with an irritated "humph". Only when the train began to slow down and the sound of opening doors filled her ears did she finally snap out of her reverie. Following the example of the younger students across the hall, she left her compartment, leaving her luggage behind for evidently someone else to take care of. Trailing in the footsteps of everyone else, she walked off the train and into the dark to the sound of a booming voice yelling, "Firs' years, firs' years o'er here, please!" Willow was about to turn her back on the voice and follow the rest of the older kids toward what appeared to be a line of horse-less carriages, when she heard the clearing of a throat and the same voice speaking again, "Could a Willow Prim come o'er here too, please? Willow Prim?" She froze and could see a couple of the students in front of her look back inquiringly, clearly confused over the difference in the usual routine. She waited until they shrugged and turned back around, not wanting them to notice it was her that caused the change in the plan, before turning on her heel and quickly walking in the direction the words had come from.

She was not expecting to see the man standing in front of her. He was gigantic, easily twice as large as the average man, with a scraggly brown beard that covered half his face. She couldn't help but feel a little taken aback, but the pounding in her chest slowed down a little when he looked down on her and smiled warmly. The friendly twinkle in his eye was undeniable, and Willow unknowingly smiled back, all trepidation gone.

"Yer our little new addition, are ya?" he asked, his gruff voice kind and welcoming.

"I guess I am," Willow answered shyly, noticing all the curious looks from the first years crowding around her.

"Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds here at Hogwarts," he reached out a furry hand for Willow to shake. She placed her hand in his, and he shook it with what seemed to be all his strength, leaving Willow to wince and massage her aching fingers after he loosened his grip, "Hogwarts will be the best school yer've ever gone to, I can guarantee it!" he shot her one last reassuring smile, before holding his lantern high above his head and telling all the new students to follow him to the boats docked by the shore of a large, dark lake.

"Four to a boat, four to a boat!" he yelled loud enough so that everyone could hear him, which was hardly necessary, as all the new students, Willow included, had either become silent and begun to speak in quiet whispers, owing to the nervousness in their minds as the Sorting Ceremony drew nearer. After a moment of hesitation, Willow followed three little girls into a boat. They looked at her with a weird look in their eyes, and tried to inconspicuously scoot closer to each other and farther from Willow, while whispering behind their hands. Willow noticed, however, and cursed herself for feeling self-conscious in front of a group of eleven year olds. She could only imagine how strange she looked, the only seventeen year old student in a group of a hundred young children, cramped into a small boat and floating on the murky water, "If yer looking ahead now, ye'll see the school!" she heard Hagrid yell out over the sounds of the children, and faced forward, where the outline of a huge castle was beginning to appear. She could hear the sounds of awe come from everyone's mouths, hers included, at the beautiful sight of the twinkling windows and high turrets. Before she had time to fully admire each aspect of the castle, she felt the boat hit land, and the students began to climb out and make their way towards the large front doors, "This is where I leave yer," Hagrid said, and Willow, panicking, caught his eye. He winked and gave her a thumbs up, his thumb the size of Willow's entire hand. He slipped through the doors and in his place appeared an elderly, regal-looking woman, with sleek, gray hair pulled back in a tight bun and friendly creases in the corners of her eyes.

"Hello, new students, and welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry," she spoke in an elegant voice, sweeping her gaze of the group of gawking children, her eyes resting a little bit longer on Willow, who averted her stare awkwardly, "My name is Professor McGonagall, and I will be your Transfiguration teacher this year. I want to offer you all a warm welcome to your new school, and I am sure you will all enjoy your time here. In a moment, we will begin the Sorting Ceremony. If you could all please get in an orderly line," she paused as the students, terrified, scrambled to form a single-file queue, "Splendid. Now, follow me and we will enter the Great Hall, where the rest of the students are waiting to see you get sorted,"

Willow, who had somehow found herself at the front of the line, wrung her hands in pure anxiety as she followed the professor to another set of large doors, through which she could hear the excited talk of thousands of students awaiting the first feast of the term. With a swish of her hand, Professor McGonagall opened the doors, and the room became suddenly silent. Willow was painfully aware of every pair of eyes in the Great Hall turning to gaze upon her, and she fought to keep her eyes straight ahead and stop them from pooling with nervous tears. She could hear the whispers from either side of, saying things such as, _I've never seen her before _and _she can't possibly be a first year_. Only until the group came to a halt in front of a long, golden table behind which a multitude of teachers were seated, did she allow herself to steal quick glances around the crowded hall. She recognized a few faces, mainly those of the infamous "Golden Trio", sitting closely together at a table adorned in scarlet, gold, and images of roaring lions. Comprised of Harry Potter and his two best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, the threesome was easily the most famous group of wizards of their age, credited with the success in the conflict between Harry and Voldemort, which began when Voldemort murdered two-year-old Harry's parents but was unable to murder him. The three were a year older than Willow, but had missed out on their seventh year on their quest to defeat the Dark Lord, and were now making the time up. Willow felt a pang of envy, having never had friends as loyal as Hermione and Ron clearly were to Harry. Every friend she managed to make at the numerous schools she had attended promised to write often when she moved, and they did for a few months, but, eventually, every one of them lost interest in her and the owls stopped coming. She continued to scan the room, noticing that the table covered with banners of green and silver was definitely much emptier than the other three, and the people seated at it were much more sullen-looking. The boy from the train was there, seated alone at the end, staring straight ahead with his head resting on his intertwined hands, not curiously imploring all the new students like most people were. Willow eyed him, for some reason willing him to move and acknowledge his own existence. His stoic nature was unnerving, especially while the entire rest of the wizarding world was celebrating finally being able to live in peace.

Her gaze was brought back to the front of the room when Professor McGonagall, standing in front of a stool that had been placed in front of the teachers' table, cleared her throat, trying to get everyone to quiet down.

"Now that I have everyone's attention," she began, throwing a pointed look to a couple of girls who were still giggling loudly and waiting for them to notice and quickly cut their laughter short, "We can begin the Sorting Ceremony. As you have all clearly noticed, one of our new students is _not_ a first year," she smiled, and murmurs of _you don't say _could be heard from every table, "In fact, Miss Willow is a seventh year, and she has just moved here from Venezuela. I would love to have her be the first sorted, but, prior to that, a word from our guest," She said the word "guest" with a smile, and Summoned a pointed, frayed hat that she then placed on top of the stool. Looking around, Willow noticed that none of the older students seemed the least bit surprised, but the first years looked just as confounded as she felt. Watching the hat carefully, she waited for something to happen; finally, the brim of the hat began to widen and, to her surprise, the hat began to speak. He gave a long speech that had the rhythm of a poem, and it revealed to the new students what each of the houses stood for. As the hat continued to sing, Willow grew more and more frantic. She didn't feel brave enough for Gryffindor, clever enough for Ravenclaw, loyal enough for Hufflepuff, and definitely not cunning enough for Slytherin. Before she was able to wrap her mind around all the different choices, the hat had completed its poem to a chorus of thundering applause. Professor McGonagall resumed her spot in front, and she pulled out a long sheet of parchment on which a list of names was scribbled.

"Let's begin with the oldest, shall we?' McGonagall smiled, and Willow felt her heart begin to thud against her ribcage, "Prim, Willow!"

The room was silent as Willow slowly walked up the steps to the elevated platform, and McGonagall motioned for her to take a seat on the rickety stool. Willow did as she was told, being forced to sit and stare out at a crowd of anticipating faces. She could tell from the looks in their eyes that having a new student of her age had not happened before, at least not in their time; they all watched her with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. She gulped and clutched the edges of the stool, while McGonagall stood over her and lowered the hat over Willow's head. She sat there for what seemed like hours, until finally she heard the hat's voice in her ears.

"Hm, difficult," he drawled, and Willow became progressively more nervous, "Alright, I've made my decision," he whispered once more, then, with a voice loud enough for everybody to hear, he announced, "GRYFFINDOR!"

The students at the scarlet and gold table all burst into cheers and applause, and Willow felt herself grin. She walked slowly towards the table, and was surprised to see the Golden Trio themselves beckoning at an empty seat across from them. A bit hesitant, she made her way towards them as the next new student had his name called to be Sorted.

"Hello," she said shyly, as she took her place between two people she also recognized from the newspaper: Neville Longbottom, a round blonde boy with buckteeth, who had slain the snake that had been one of Voldemort's Horcruxes, and Ginny Weasley, a pretty redhead the same age as Willow, who, according to the Daily Prophet, was Harry's girlfriend. From the misty-eyed looks they were giving each other across the table, Willow judged this to be true.

"Hi," Hermione, a brunette with bushy hair and slightly large front teeth, yet a considerable amount of endearing charm, smiled friendlily at Willow, "Welcome to Hogwarts,"

"'Ello!" was the simultaneous chorus from Ron, who was a lanky redhead with numerous freckles, and Harry, who had round glasses, shockingly green eyes, unruly black hair, and, most noticeably, a lightning-bolt shaped scar on his forehead, a result of Voldemort's failed Killing Curse. Noticing where her eyes were wandering, Harry self-consciously covered his forehead as best as he could, and Willow, embarrassed, averted her gaze.

"So, Venezuela, huh?" Ginny grinned, elbowing her side, and Willow explained her father's job and how she had been moving from country to country all her life. The group seemed completely uninterested in the rest of the Sorting Ceremony, and spent the time asking her questions, apparently fascinated. Willow was flustered but graciously answered their inquiries and responded with her own questions, unaccustomed to all the attention, especially from people like _them_. For a group so famous, they were surprisingly normal, and Willow found that she couldn't stop smiling. They genuinely seemed to like her from what she could tell, and the conversation didn't die down until all the first years were sorted and McGonagall was again raising her voice above the crowd. She gave a few notices, ones that Hermione whispered were "the usual", then waved her wand once and told them to enjoy. Turning back to the table, Willow was amazed to see the largest arrangement of food she had ever encountered. Ron laughed at her shocked face.

"That's why they say Hogwarts is the best!" he chuckled, helping himself to some shepard's pie.

"I bet," Willow conceded, awestruck, though she wasn't entire sure who "they" were. She enjoyed dinner profusely, and helped herself to thirds of every option. Halfway through a particularly delicious bit of roast beef, she happened to look up and notice the glum train boy at the table across the hall, still sitting by himself and not eating a morsel of anything. Eyebrows furrowed, she turned to Ginny and tried to discreetly gesture in his direction. "Who's that?" she asked, and the whole group, completely disregarding her attempt to remain inconspicuous, turned to see who she was referring to. When they turned back, they all had unusual expressions on their faces.

"Oh," Ginny began slowly, looking at her friends, "That's Draco Malfoy," she said, as if the name was supposed to have significance to Willow. As a matter of fact, the name "Malfoy" did seem strangely familiar.

"He used to be my biggest rival here, but after recent…events, we decided he's not that bad after all," Harry said hesitantly.

"What happened?" Willow asked, exceedingly curious, having forgotten about the roast beef still on her fork.

"Well, the Malfoys were known to be extremely Dark wizards, right in Voldemort's inner circle," Hermione whispered and Willow remembered reading something about a family by the same name in the paper, "Lucius, Draco's father, was about as bad as you could get, besides Voldemort himself, of course, and his wife, Narcissa, just about did anything she was told for the most part. They roped Draco into the whole thing, and Voldemort relied on Draco himself to get...things...done here at Hogwarts. Our first couple years here, Draco was completely happy and just acted like your typical bully, but once Voldemort came back, he became scared and depressed. He didn't want to be a part of it anymore. During the battle, he proved himself not to be as bad as we thought he was, but his parents came out on the worse end. They got sent off to Azkaban," she said with a shudder. Willow remembered reading about the roundup of Death Eaters now, and the capture of the Malfoys was a very prominent portion of the article.

"He's alone now," Ron continued where Hermione left off, "His parents are off in prison for who knows how long, and any friends he had are either dead, arrested, or won't speak to him because he 'betrayed' them. All he's got is that Zabini fellow, I guess," he said, pointing to a handsome dark-skinned boy that was sitting a few seats away from Draco and was giving him concerned glances, "but Draco's too upset to really talk to anyone," Willow looked up, a mixture of dislike and compassion swelling inside her as she stole another glance at Draco. She felt bad for him in his situation and for the fact that he was forced into being a Death Eater by his family, but, still, Hermione had said he was a bully. There was no explaining that away. Still, he looked so sad, slumped over in his seat and absent-mindedly stirring the spoon in his bowl, and she couldn't help but feel pity.

"I don't care if he turned out for the better at the end," Neville spoke up, "He still made my first few years here a living hell," he said with a mixture of fury and sadness.

"Mine too, Neville," Harry responded softly, "But I think we should cut him some slack," Neville grumbled something under his breath in response, but didn't retort. There was an awkward silence, followed by Hermione finally standing up and smiling uncertainly.

"Well, as it seems we're all finished eating, what do you say we show Willow to our Common Room?" she said. The rest agreed and pushed away from the table, following her towards the doors. Willow trailed along in the back, unable to tear her eyes away from Draco, who, for some odd reason, seemed to fascinate her. At the last second, as if he sensed someone was watching him, he looked up suddenly. Even from far away, Willow could see into his gray eyes, which were drooped and emotionless. Even so, they seemed to be able to bare right into her soul and he didn't break his stare. She couldn't tell at all what he was thinking and it was frightening; she blushed deeply and looked away, quickly following the other Gryffindors out the door without a backwards glance.

**A/N: It's a little short but I always seemed to have a problem with writing extremely short chapters, that's my bad.**

**Hopefully I did an okay job, though!**

**Review and let me know what you think, please! I'd really like to continue this story. :)**


	2. Draco

Draco Malfoy wasn't an idiot, and he wasn't completely immune to what was going on around him either.

The girl wasn't being discreet, looking over at him every couple seconds, her mouth in a little "o". And when she whispered something to the female Weasley, and they all turned to look at him before leaning their heads closer together and talking animatedly, Draco almost laughed. Who did they think they were fooling?

It was starting to get on his nerves, the way she kept staring, her eyes sad. He could read her expression quite well; after all, it was the same look almost everyone had been giving him lately. Even Blaise looked at him with that same downward droop in his eyes when Draco passed by him on the train with nothing more than a mumbled, "Hey." They all looked at him with that same, horrible expression of…pity.

He hated that word. _Pity_. He didn't want them feeling sorry for him. It was bad enough feeling sorry for himself, without hundreds of other people whispering behind their hands when he passed by and shooting him looks of sympathy as if they understood what he was going through. They all had somebody to turn to when they needed compassion; Draco was alone. They were all relaxed now that Voldemort was gone. Draco was relieved that he was gone, too, but for his own reasons; he would never forget the feeling of standing in front of a helpless Dumbledore, clutching his wand with shaking hands and struggling to say the words he had never really wanted to say before being pushed aside by Severus. Threats of Draco's own death weren't what had scared him into it; it was the threats of murdering his family. Draco would never forgive himself if he was the cause of his parents' deaths.

Yet what he had really happened was worse. Draco sometimes wished his parents were dead, as awful as it sounded. Death would be peaceful, as opposed to spending the rest of their lives locked up in Azkaban. Draco needed his parents. His father's constant reassurances that everything would be alright, his mother's gentle hand stroking his hair and hugging him tight when it all became too much for him. He lay awake every night that summer, alone in the giant manor that scared him now that he was the only one living in it, picturing his parents cowering in the corner of a dirty cell, dementors looking down at them, their skeletal hands reaching...Often times, these images turned into nightmares when Draco finally drifted off to sleep, and he woke with a start, covered in sweat and shaking uncontrollably, with an unmistakable feeling of guilt in his gut. Guilt was the reason why he kept his head down, not speaking to anybody, lost in his own thoughts at all times; he couldn't help but feel as if he deserved to be there, at Azkaban, with his parents. Sometimes he even wished he was.

Blaise had tried to reach out. He sent numerous owls, none of which were returned. After a while he gave up on getting a response in the form of a letter, and had shown up at Draco's front door, ringing the bell incessantly while Draco cowered in an arm chair in the entryway, staring at the outline of Blaise's body through the drawn curtains and pretending he wasn't home. He stood there for at least twenty minutes before becoming exasperated and disappearing with a flick of his robe. He didn't try contacting Draco again. A little pang of remorse filled Draco's stomach when he thought of how he had pushed his friend away, but what was he supposed to say? "I'm upset because I should be in prison"? Blaise would look at him like he was crazy, or worse, try to reason with him and tell him he was wrong. Maybe he was. Or maybe he wasn't.

All he knew for a fact was that the new girl would not stop looking at him, and his lip curled at the thought of what must be going through her head. She didn't even know him. When their little band of Gryffindors got up and started to leave the Great Hall, she was outright rude, staring at him non-stop, as opposed to the little covert looks she had been giving him before. Something inside Draco snapped, and he lifted his head to meet her gaze and throw her off, expecting her to grow flustered and look away. Most people were willing to show their pity from far away, but wouldn't dream of actual confrontation. She looked startled, but didn't stop staring, surprisingly, and Draco felt himself grow uncertain. His expression didn't falter, however, and he continued to look straight into her wide brown eyes. A flicker of something he recognized showed on her face: fear. She turned suddenly and practically ran out the door, and Draco dropped his gaze back to the table, feeling as if he had done something wrong. He closed his eyes, collecting his thoughts, before standing up and slowly making his way out the door and towards the Slytherin common room.

All he wanted to do was go to bed. He couldn't suffer the pity of others when he was fast asleep.

**A/N: Short, short, short, but I just wanted to establish Draco's point of view.**

**If anybody would like to review, please do. I would probably cry happy tears.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	3. Caring

The first couple weeks at Hogwarts went surprisingly well for Willow. Almost perfect, even. The worst that had happened was when her ink bottle fell out of her bag as she was rushing to make it to Transfiguration on time. It had shattered and spilled all over the floor and her shoes, but Harry had come to her rescue, helping Willow repair the bottle and siphon the ink back in.

The friends she had met on the first day had taken Willow under their wing, for reasons unbeknownst to her. Not that she was complaining. She was entirely grateful for the attention and assistance. All the trepidation she had felt before slowly disappeared, mostly because of the fact that all she had to do was turn to Ginny when she couldn't find her way to one of her classes, or to Hermione when she needed help with homework. They were all just being so _friendly_; she couldn't quite fathom why, but she decided she would rather not question it and just enjoy the feeling of belonging that was starting to overcome her when she sat in the common room with the group every night, comparing answers to assignments and just _talking_, something she wasn't quite accustomed to.

And she had forgotten all about that Malfoy boy.

Almost.

She couldn't help sometimes noticing, in classes that the Gryffindors shared with Slytherin, how he always sat alone in the corner of the room. The teachers must have noticed too, because they never called on him to answer questions, almost pretending as if he wasn't there. She glanced over at him from time to time, just to make sure he was still…alive. As dumb as it sounded. He just looked so emotionless, so _dead_ at times, that it frightened her a bit.

She didn't even know why she cared. It might have just been the fact that she was a compassionate person in general. She was always the child that cried when another child got hurt, just out of sympathy. She held the hand of little girls on the playground when they fell and scraped their knee, even if she was in a country in which she couldn't even understand the language. She always just wanted to help. That's why it had always been her dream to become a Healer. At all her schools, she had always gotten particularly close with the nurse, spending her free time in the hospital wing just observing and, after gaining the trust of the nurse, assisting in any way she could. There was just such joy in helping others feel better when they were in pain; to see the smile finally breaking through the tears. Maybe that's why she kept staring at Draco Malfoy. She just wanted to see him smile.

* * *

Two weeks into the term and she was _still_ doing it. Draco was starting to become exasperated. Other students had finally gotten tired of whispering about him behind his back and decided he wasn't worth their pity anymore. He didn't exactly blame them. Every person who walked up to him and asked if he was alright, or if he needed help, got a muttered response of "I'm fine" before he walked away as quickly as he could without breaking into a run. But she, _she_ was insistent. During class, he could always see her looking at him with that same expression she had worn on the first day of school, and he was starting to get really sick of it. There was a reason he always sat in the back; he didn't think anybody would be so obvious as to actually turn around to stare at him. But she did. She didn't seem to care at all if he noticed, flagrantly turning her head in the middle of class to look at him quickly before turning back around, only to repeat the entire process a couple minutes later. They were only twenty minutes into a Potions lesson just now, and she had already looked eight times.

Her expression was becoming harder and harder to read. The same look of pity was there, of course, but there was more. At times, he thought it might be fear. But why? Was she afraid of him?

Part of him wished she was. Maybe if he frightened her, she would finally leave him alone. He didn't understand what she had to fear, though. He had never spoken to her. The only interaction they had had was the time he had stared back at her on the first day of school. But it wasn't as if he had done anything particularly chilling. He didn't even think he looked angry. Could it be because of the stories Potter and his friends had undoubtedly told her about him? What could they have told her that would cause her to fear for her own well being when she was around him? Besides, he and Potter were on good terms now. They still nodded at each other when they passed in the hallways. Draco didn't think they would warn her against him.

The whole situation made his head hurt when he thought about it, which was much more often than he would've liked. It just boggled his mind that someone he didn't even know could care so much. The only way he could find out would be if he asked her. But the idea of actually walking up to her and asking "why do you keep looking at me?" seemed ludicrous.

He battled within himself for the remainder of the class. Half of him argued that he didn't even know the girl, and if she was already scared of him, marching up to her and demanding to hear an explanation would hardly help at all. He was also nervous, as much as he hated to admit it. It had been months since he had had a real conversation. But the other half thirsted to know the reason why she was so intrigued by him. It interested him that she could look at him so often with something other than pity in her eyes.

He had finally made up his mind when she looked at him three times over the course of two minutes, a record amount. This was becoming too much. He had to do it.

The class had just ended, and he swept up his belongings quickly, mentally preparing himself to walk right up to the front of the room and ask the girl if he could talk to her. He was halfway across the classroom when he froze, scowling. He realized there was a slight problem.

He wracked his brain, trying to remember. There was the Welcoming Feast, where it was certainly mentioned during the Sorting Ceremony. And there had been numerous classes together since the first day. A teacher had to have called on her at least once within that time. He cursed himself for never paying attention and always being absorbed in his own thoughts, before turning on his heel and storming out of the room.

It was hard to confront somebody when you didn't even know their name.

**A/N: Yay, finally a bit of plot development!**

**Thanks so much to anyone who has favorited or followed. Even though there's only a few of you, I appreciate it more than you can imagine.**

**If maybe you'd like to review this time, I'd definitely be ok with that.**

** Thanks for reading! :)**


	4. Confrontation

Willow had no idea what had happened, but suddenly Potions class was an entirely different experience.

At the next lesson, she was entirely shocked to see Draco Malfoy sitting at the desk behind the one she normally sat at. When she passed by him, she was unable to restrain herself from stealing a quick glance at the boy, who, despite having moved from the back of the room to practically the very front, was still staring straight ahead stoically. As her gaze swept over his face, he suddenly looked up, and Willow looked straight into his gray eyes for the second time in her life. A bit startled, she dropped the book she was carrying in her arms, and it fell right by his feet. She hesitated for a second, expecting Draco to hand her the textbook considering the fact it had just narrowly missed the toe of his left shoe. She even coughed once, then twice, trying to get his attention. But he was again gazing at the wall in the front of the room, his eyes empty. Willow huffed in exasperation, and dropped to the ground to crawl under his desk, narrowly avoiding accidentally touching his leg, and retrieved her book before flopping down in her seat, determined not to turn around for the rest of the class.

A side effect of caring so much about others was irritating over-sensitivity. Willow's feelings were always bruised easily, which was perhaps a result of always offering a helping hand towards others but rarely receiving one herself. That was why her new friends' friendliness made her feel so unusually light and happy; for once in her life, she was the one being taken care of, instead of the other way around. Draco's flagrant disregard for Willow's plea for assistance, even in such trivial circumstances, made her angry; it _was_ a bit rude.

"Alright?" Ginny, who had quickly become her closest friend, asked from the desk next to Willow's, reading the expression on Willow's face and peering at her, concerned.

"Yeah," Willow responded lightly, wiping the scowl off her face, "Yeah, I'm fine," she repeated, and smiled sweetly at Ginny, who gave her a strange look before shrugging and turning to her bag to pull out the required ingredients for the day and place them on her desk. Willow followed her example, and was just pulling a jar of armadillo bile out when a voice at her side made her jump, narrowly avoiding spilling the substance all over herself.

"Er, sorry," Ron said after she placed the jar on her desk, where it was safe from spillage, "Didn't know you were so jumpy," he chuckled.

"I'm usually not, I was just thinking," she said quickly, not wanting to think of her as strange, and he nodded.

"Right, well, I was just wondering if I could borrow some of your scarab beetles," he said, looking sheepish, "I seem to have misplaced mine. I'm sure I'll find them eventually, and I'll give them back to you…"

"No!" Willow exclaimed, and he stopped, surprise, "I mean, no, that's fine. No need to repay me. Here," she said, pouring some of the brown beetles into Ron's cupped hand.

"Thanks, Willow!" he grinned. Willow could have sworn she heard a noise from behind her back, but she remembered her resolve not to turn around, and kept her head facing straight ahead as Slughorn appeared behind his desk, ready to begin the day's lesson.

* * *

It was as if the roles had reversed.

She stared straight ahead for the duration of the entire class, not once turning to look at him like she had when he had been sitting in the back of the classroom. He presumed it was because he hadn't picked up her book. Why should he have, if the only reason she had dropped it was because she had been caught in the act of watching him as she passed by? He didn't want her to think he was okay with her little glancing game, and helping her might give her that wrong impression. He didn't look at her when she coughed, not just once, but twice, the noises laced with exasperation, and he continued to avoid looking at her when she dropped down on all fours and crawled under his desk and next to his feet, her robes brushing against his leg. When she stood back up and flounced to her seat with a sound of obvious annoyance, his mouth twitched. Was he..._amused_?

It was a strange concept. He hadn't felt the urge to smile in months, not since before his parents had been taken away. Not even the loud jokes the other Slytherins cracked in the common room every evening, when Draco was doing his homework at the solitary table in the corner, could turn up the corners of his lips in the slightest. There had been a time where all of those jokes made him chuckle, when he had been able to sit by the fire with the rest of his friends and laugh easily. There was even a time where _he_ had been the one making _everyone else_ laugh. He just wasn't interested in juvenile quips anymore. It wasn't as if he had _outgrown_ them. At least, he didn't think so. It was just that the thought of being lighthearted enough to laugh and enjoy himself made him feel even more guilty; his parents didn't have that pleasure, locked up behind bars in what Draco could only imagine to be the least happy place in existence.

The memory of his parents caused the momentary twitch to disappear, his usual emotionless expression again taking over his features. It wasn't until after she had sat down and his whole view was filled with the back of her head that he realized unintentionally making her irritated with him was probably a good thing. If she turned around, as she normally would have, they would have been awkwardly staring right at each other. That was fine the first two times, when he had looked up intentionally to throw her off, but in this situation, it would take _him_ by surprise. And he didn't want that.

He remembered suddenly what his intention had been in the first place when he decided to sit closer than he normally did, which was to hopefully hear her name so he could confront her and get her to stop staring and making him uncomfortable. He leaned forward slightly, just enough that he could hear better but not enough to be noticed by any of the other students in the class, and craned his ear to try and hear what the female Weasley was saying. Someone to Draco's right side happened to drop his cauldron at the same moment, drowning out her words with a loud clattering. Annoyed, he slumped back in his seat, the opportunity missed. The girl was now taking her ingredients out of her bag, which Draco had done the second he sat down. He watched keenly as Ron Weasley strode up to her desk and said something, and the girl, surprised, fumbled with a jar she was holding in her hands, almost spilling the contents all over herself before she caught it at the last second.

There it was. That mouth twitch again. Draco silently cursed himself.

Ron happened to always be particularly loud, so Draco was able to stare down at his desk, leaning back, and still hear everything the two were saying. The conversation seemed to be going nowhere that would help him with his task, and he was quickly losing patience. He almost decided to stop paying attention and drown them out, when Ron said one last phrase before going back to his seat.

"Thanks, Willow!"

Draco let out a quiet shout of triumph, before he realized what he was doing and shut his mouth, slouching down even lower in his seat. He eyed the back of the girl's…Willow's head warily, and it twitched slightly, but she didn't turn.

_She's stubborn_, he thought, groaning inwardly. It might be tougher to get her to admit to doing anything wrong than he would have liked. He just wanted to ask for an explanation and, as politely as he could force himself to sound, request for her to stop. He didn't want any trouble; that was the last thing he needed at the moment.

The rest of the class dragged, and Draco worked silently, completing his potion as quickly as he could and placing a small vial of it on Slughorn's desk for grading before returning to his seat and resuming his thoughts. He wasn't quite sure what he was going to say; he decided to just say what came to mind and go with it. When the bell finally rang after what seemed like an eternity, Willow stood up and started packing her materials back into her bag. Draco decided this was his best opportunity, and he got up from his seat, absent-mindedly flattening out the creases on his robes. He walked up to her and reached out a pale finger to tap her on the shoulder, before thinking better of it and dropping his hand by his side, opting to clear his throat instead.

"Er, Willow?" he heard himself say, and his voice sounded different, even to himself. He sounded almost…nervous. She turned to see who was speaking to her, and her eyebrows shot up when she looked up at him, her eyes wide with surprise.

"Yes?" she asked uncertainly, after a moment of hesitation.

"May I have a word with you?" Draco said and, after seeing her friends crowd around, looking confused and a bit suspicious, added, "Alone?" Her eyebrows lifted even higher, which he didn't think was possible, and she glanced at the Weasley girl, biting her lip.

"S-sure, I guess," she stuttered, any anger she most likely felt towards him earlier gone from her face/.

_Maybe not so stubborn after all_, Draco thought to himself, relieved.

"We'll be right outside the door, okay?" Hermione asked, shooting an unreadable expression in Draco's direction, and waited for Willow's nod before motioning at the rest of the group to follow her outside.

"What you like to speak to me about?" Willow inquired, avoiding his gaze. Draco found that slightly ironic, considering she had been quite keen to look at him before he actually confronted her.

"I wanted to ask why…" he faltered, his confidence wavering, "Why you keep looking at me," he muttered. She looked up suddenly, her mouth in a tiny "o".

"I-I didn't think-" she fumbled over her words, but Draco cut her off.

"Didn't think I would notice?" he said, his voice flat. She nodded sheepishly, "Well I did," he finished curtly, and was unsure what to say next.

"Sorry," she said quietly, "It won't happen again," and again she looked down at the ground, scuffing the toe of her shoe against the floor.

"Good," he said, and almost turned to leave, but stopped himself, "You didn't answer my question," he realized.

"What?" she asked, eyebrows furrowed.

"Why were you looking at me?" he repeated, pushing her for an answer. His curiosity was overbearing.

"Oh, it's just…" she hesitated, and from what Draco could see of her face, she had blushed a deep red. Draco waited silently for her to complete her thought, "You always look _sad_," she finally finished, her voice barely above a whisper, and Draco blinked. That wasn't the answer he had been expecting.

"What's it to you?" he asked, his voice a little sharper than he had meant it to be.

"Nothing," she said quickly, flustered, "I just feel bad for you,"

Of course. Pity. As if there could have been a different reason. All interest in the situation dissolved from Draco's mind almost instantly. He had misread the look in her eyes, that was all.

Wordlessly, Draco turned and walked towards the door with long strides, leaving her standing there, dazed and confused. He paused for a fraction of a second when he heard her call after him, but kept walking, shaking her last sentence out of his thoughts:

"I just wanted to know how I could help,"

**A/N: Thank you SO much to everyone who has reviewed! I love you guys! A lot!**

**Writing is a completely different experience when you know there are people out there who actually enjoy your story, so thanks.**

**If you feel like you'd like to review this chapter, please do! :)**

**Thanks for reading!**


	5. Help

Willow watched Draco disappear through the doorway of the Potions classroom in disbelief, unsure exactly what had just happened.

She never would have guessed, in a thousand years, that Draco Malfoy would ever actually _speak_ to her and call her out for the staring, which she didn't even think he noticed. As for how he _had_ noticed, her guess was as good as any; he never looked up, apart from the time at the Welcoming Feast and the time at the beginning of the class they had just finished. She had an excuse for the latter, however: everyone was looking at him when they walked into the classroom, shocked that he wasn't occupying his usual spot in the farthest back corner. But from the tone of his voice when he confronted her, it was obvious he knew that she had watched him many more times than just in those two instances. She felt a wave of guilt pass over her when he had asked her why she was staring, that same stoic look on his face that he always wore. She never thought what she was doing was wrong, but she realized just how rude she had been when he seemed satisfied with her promise to stop. She hadn't even been able to look at him, completely embarrassed by her own actions.

And then there was that look on his face when she had managed to stutter out her lame excuse for an explanation; that she had felt bad for him. He looked almost…disappointed. Her reasoning seemed rational to her before, but she had never tried seeing it out of his eyes. She was sure he had been receiving plenty of pity lately, considering his current situation, and she could understand how that could be frustrating. She remembered at her old schools, where other students would eye her with that all too recognizable look of compassion when she would walk into every classroom alone the first few weeks, or even months, of term. She remembered wanting to scream at them to talk to her, to befriend her, if they really felt that sorry for her. What good was their pity if they didn't try to do anything to help?

With this thought, she thought she could alleviate some of the obvious tension she had caused between herself and Draco, and she yelled after him before he could make it to the door.

"I just wanted to know how I could help,"

She swore he had hesitated for a second, but then he walked through the door, moving even more quickly than he had been before, leaving Willow alone, red-faced and embarrassed, in the empty classroom.

She stared at the doorway for a few moments, feeling a mixture of humiliation and dejection, before picking up her bag and swinging it over her shoulder with a sigh. Cursing herself under her breath for sticking her nose in where it didn't belong, which she was notorious for doing, she left the classroom in a rush and ran straight into Harry, who, along with the rest of their friends, was waiting outside.

"Sorry," he winced, "I was coming in to make sure you were alright,"

"I'm fine," Willow said quickly, forcing a small smile to make herself look more convincing.

"What _happened_ in there?" Hermione asked, awestruck.

"Yeah, Malfoy ran out of there as if you had tried to hex him," Ginny added.

"Nothing happened. I'm fine," Willow repeated, feeling even guiltier now that she was lying to her new friends, but she couldn't handle the additional embarrassment of having to admit that she had been staring at Draco and, even worse, gotten caught. She knew they would take it the wrong way.

"Clearly _something_ happened…" Ron said slowly.

"You can tell us!" Neville added, smiling at her reassuringly.

"Yeah, come on," Ginny urged.

"He didn't hurt you, did he?" Harry asked, eyebrows furrowed.

"He didn't do anything. I don't want to talk about it. I'm _fine_," Willow practically snapped, feeling more flustered by the second. Everyone went quiet, eyeing her apprehensively. She collected her thoughts for a second, her eyes closed, before looking at her friends with an apologetic smile, "I'm sorry. Can we please just go to dinner?"

They all stared her at her for a few more seconds, before Ginny nodded uncertainly.

"Let's go," she said firmly, and they all hesitated before following behind her silently.

"We just wanted to help," Ron mumbled from behind Willow, and she almost stopped dead. She resisted the urge to slap herself on the forehead.

She realized that was exactly what she had said to Draco.

And just how irritating it must have sounded.

* * *

Draco wasn't in the mood for dinner, which wasn't anything new. He opted to go straight to his dormitory instead and flop down on his bed. He often did this while all the other Slytherins were eating in the Great Hall; he would just lie there on his back and stare up at the ceiling, his hands clasped underneath his head. He watched as a spider lazily crawled against the gray-bricked ceiling, absorbed in his thoughts.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting. Something about the way she had looked at him was different than others, or maybe that had just been his imagination. When she had told him that she just felt bad for him, he had wanted to shout. He hadn't; it wasn't her fault that everyone felt pity for him. He was just so tired of it. He almost wanted to start skipping through the hallways with a big smile on his face, just to get it to stop, but he realized that would only make people think he was mentally insane. Which would probably be even worse.

He thought about what she had said before he left the room. That she wanted to _help _him. He scoffed; what was that supposed to mean? How did she expect to help him? And why did she care? The only way she could help him was if she gave him his parents back, and he knew that was impossible. It made him a little angry that she was getting involved in his business. She had only been at Hogwarts for a few weeks, and was already trying to make herself important.

It made sense, considering she had been hanging around Potter. He was sure he had been all high and mighty lately, since he had managed to pull off the impossible and come back to life after he had supposedly _died_. Draco knew he and Potter were supposed to be on good terms, but he couldn't help but feel slightly bitter. Where was _his _recognition for risking everything to switch sides?

The girl had looked so embarrassed when he confronted her. It served her right; maybe the memory of the humiliation would make her leave him alone. That was all he wanted, after all. To just be left alone.

At the thought of the word "alone", Draco dropped his gaze from the spider to the window on the opposite wall, staring into the darkening sky. He wondered, as he often did, what his parents were doing at that exact moment. He shuddered slightly at the thought of them in their separate cells, rows of unbreakable bars isolating them from the outside world. His mother had always been extremely slim; he didn't even want to picture what she looked like now, deprived of an adequate amount of nourishment.  
He felt a strange tickling in his throat, but it went away when he took a sip of the water on his nightstand.

He stole a look at the clock when he placed the goblet back down. It wasn't late at all, but he felt unusually fatigued. He glanced at his book bag, which was lying on the floor, and decided homework could wait until morning. Leaning back on his pillows, he immediately fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

It was the most peaceful he had felt in a long time.

**A/N: I'm sorry for the short chapters, it must be really irritating. I can't help it, ugh.**

**I'm probably going to say this every single time, but thank you to everyone who has reviewed! Seriously. Thank you.**

**Thanks for reading. Review, pretty please!**


	6. Pair

Weeks passed, and not once did Willow glance at Draco Malfoy, not even for a second.

She wasn't about to attempt to help him if he clearly didn't want her help. If he didn't want to feel better, if he really wanted to be angry and alone for the rest of his life, then so be it. She had gotten over the guilt she originally felt when he had confronted her, and now all she felt towards him was bitterness. It wasn't as if it was a _crime _to offer support to someone, even a stranger. There had been so many times she wished someone would aid her, and nobody did. She wasn't even sure what she would have done if he had turned around when she yelled after him and told him she wanted to help, but she knew she could think of something. But she wasn't even given a chance. The boy had to help himself before he could be helped by anyone else. It was out of Willow's hands.

She hustled down one of Hogwarts' many first floor corridors, finishing off the last bites of the sandwich she had taken from the Great Hall. She was skipping having lunch with her friends to go the Hospital Wing alone instead, which she had been doing often. Even after almost two months of school, she still got lost on the way to some of her classes without her friends' help, but the Hospital Wing was one place she knew by heart. She spent a lot of time there; Madame Pomfrey had taken to her immediately, and was allowing Willow to assist with patients, giving her small tasks to do while she was off running errands. Willow felt at home there. The clean, white room with its rows of beds was a kind of safe haven, a place where she felt she could really make her contributions to society. She could imagine herself spending the rest of her life in a room just like it, healing others and helping them regain their health. Healing was something she just _knew _she wanted to do, and she was good at it, too.

"Hello, Madame Pomfrey," she called out when she stepped into the room, closing the door softly behind her.

'Hi, dear!" she heard the friendly voice call from the corner, where the woman was leaning over a bed, holding a goblet to someone's lips.

"Can I help you with something?" Willow asked, placing her bag on an empty chair.

"I'm afraid not," Madame Pomfrey smiled apologetically, "I just gave Samuel here something to repair his sprained wrist and he's our only patient so far today,"

"Oh, what happened?" Willow inquired, always curious about how injuries came about.

"I got my foot stuck in a trick step on the stairs and fell forward," the young boy, who Willow recognized as one who had been standing near her in line during the Sorting Ceremony, piped up excitedly. Willow winced sympathetically.

"You're all done, off you go!" Madame Pomfrey exclaimed, shooing him off the bed and watching as he strolled triumphantly out of the room, presumably to go boast to all his friends about his injury.

Seconds later, a small, scrawny boy in Hufflepuff robes walked in, holding his hand over his nose.

"My, my, what happened to you?" Madame Pomfrey asked, leading him to a bed and sitting him down. He took his hand off his face to reveal blood spurting out of his nostrils.

"I think I broke my nose,"

"How?" she asked, watching disapprovingly as the blood dripped onto the sparkling white sheets.

"I got punched by a Slytherin," he said matter-of-factly, and Madame Pomfrey grew stern.

"Who?" she asked angrily, "I don't condone that kind of behavior,"

"Oh, no, it's okay," he stated cheerily, "Professor McGonagall saw the whole thing. She gave him detention," he seemed very pleased with himself, puffing up his chest and grinning from beneath the blood on his face.

"You can take care of this, can't you, Willow?" Madame Pomfrey sighed, turning to the girl, "I've got a letter I have to finish in my office,"

"Of course!" Willow said excitedly, ecstatic for a chance to prove what she knew. The nurse smiled at her and shuffled away into her office, leaving the door slightly ajar behind her. Willow sat in a chair next to the boy's bed, clearing her throat and pointing her wand at his crooked nose, "Episkey," she stated clearly, and the boy's nose bulged slightly before settling back to its normal position. She Summoned a towel and a bowl of ice water and flicked her wand again; the towel dipped itself into the liquid and onto his face, wiping the blood off. He grasped his nose uncertainly, before smiling and leaping off of the bed.

"Thanks!" he exclaimed, clearly satisfied with Willow's work. He headed towards the door, but Madame Pomfrey came bustling out of her office, and she held out a hand, stopping him in his tracks. To the boys' surprise, she grabbed his nose, pulling it this way before looking at Willow and exclaiming "Well done!". Willow beamed, delighted. She glanced down at her watch, realizing lunch was nearly over, and stood up, grabbing her bag.

"Would you mind taking this letter to Professor Slughorn?" Madame Pomfrey was asking the boy.

"I can take it," Willow interrupted, "I have Potions next,"

"Wonderful," Madame Pomfrey smiled at her with gratitude, and handed her the thin brown envelope.

Willow took it and bade the nurse goodbye before walking out the door, making her way to the dungeons while staring at the letter in her hand. She was definitely interested in its contents, but it was sealed, and Willow respected Madame Pomfrey's privacy. She just wondered what kind of business nurse could have with the Potions professor.

She made it through the doorway of the Potions classroom moments before the bell rang, and she hurried to her seat in the front of the room, which Ginny had saved for her.

"Why were you almost late?" Ginny whispered curiously out of the corner of her mouth. Slughorn was taking attendance at the front of the room.

"I was healing a broken nose," Willow responded, prideful.

"Prim?" Slughorn's voice interrupted, and Willow raised her hand.

"Here. And, Professor?" she asked, and he looked up, "I've got a letter for you from Madame Pomfrey,"

"Oh, yes," he said, not looking surprised at the slightest, and he reached out his hand, "I'll take that,"

Willow stood up from her seat, walking up to Slughorn's desk and handing him the envelope.

"Very well, thank you," he smiled at her, before looking back down at his class roster and continuing with attendance. Ginny waited until after he called her name before whispering to Willow again.

"What's that all about?" she asked.

"I have no clue," Willow mumbled truthfully in response.

"Huh," Ginny said, but she shrugged, clearly having lost interest.

"If I could have your attention, please," Slughorn was now saying, "I would like to take the time to announce that we are doing a _partner project,_" he announced, a smug smile on his face. Everyone started whispering amongst themselves immediately. Willow looked at Ginny, who grinned at her.

"Partners?" Willow mouthed.

"You got it," Ginny mouthed back.

"This will be a three-part project," Slughorn was continuing, "Each partnership will be assigned a potion. Your assignment is this: an essay describing the uses of the potion and specific times in history that it has been helpful, a list of all ingredients used, _including _drawings of each ingredient and a description of where each one can be located, and, finally, you and your partner must come down to this classroom in your free time and brew your assigned potion perfectly. I expect your essay, list of ingredients, and a filled vial on the empty table in the far corner by a week from today,"

"This is going to take forever," Willow groaned, and Ginny nodded grimly.

"Oh, and one last thing," Slughorn said, "I have already picked your partners for you,"

A loud groan was emitted from almost every student in the classroom.

"Fantastic," Ginny muttered sarcastically.

"Now, now, settle down," Slughorn continued, not fazed by the negative reaction, "You'll all be perfectly fine. I'm going to read off the names of your partners now. You will get time at the end of class to meet with your partner and discuss your plans,"

Willow looked around nervously at the faces of the students in the room. She was worried she would get paired with someone completely undesirable. She tried not to scare herself too much; she had plenty of friends in the room as well. Crossing her fingers under her desk, she silently hoped she would be partnered with one of them. Slughorn cleared his throat, looking down at the piece of parchment he was holding in his hand.

"Potter and Granger," he began, and Willow looked enviously over at Harry and Hermione, who were sharing relieved smiles, "Parkinson and Weasley, Ginny,"

"You're kidding," Ginny complained loudly, whipping her head around to shoot daggers at Pansy, who was sticking her tongue out and looking just as displeased. Slughorn looked between the two of them uncomfortably, but didn't comment.

"Er, moving on," he said instead, "Prim and Malfoy,"

Willow's mouth dropped, and, forgetting her promise not to look at Draco anymore, she turned around to see him looking just as bewildered as she did, but only for a split second. He caught her eye, and his face was again as somber as ever. Willow turned back around, burying her face in her hands. Out of all the people in the classroom, she just _had _to have been paired with him.

"Rather him then _Pansy_," Ginny muttered darkly, but Willow would have eagerly switched.

This was going to be a disaster.

**A/N: Thanks for reading! And thanks again to all of you who have reviewed, I love you to death! :)**


	7. Dull

Draco had to resist the urge to slam his head down on the desk.

He had no idea who "Prim" was when Slughorn had read off the name, but when Willow whipped her head around and stared at him with an undeniable look of horror on her face, he knew it was her. He hadn't been able to stop himself from looking bewildered for a moment, but quickly collected himself, not wanting her to think he cared whether or not they were partners. Based on the fact that she had buried her head in her arms after turning back around, it was obvious she did care, and she wasn't happy about it. Her unhappiness made him slightly angry; he didn't do anything to her. _She _was the one who had been staring at him rudely, who had tried to involve herself in his personal matters for who knows what reason. If anything, he was the one who had the right to be upset about their forced partnership.

He could barely focus on the potion Slughorn had told them to make before he let them meet with their partners; he didn't even know what the name of it was. He absent-mindedly chopped up his bat spleens, dreading the moment when he and Willow had to speak. It would be their first encounter since he confronted her about her staring, and he could already sense the awkwardness. Not that he really _cared_ if it was awkward; it was just that the idea of her thinking she had an effect on him disgusted him. He was working so slowly that he had just barely dropped his lacewing flies in the cauldron, the seventh step out of fifteen, when Slughorn told them all to stop.

"There's only ten minutes left in the class," he was saying at the front of the room, "So the rest of the time is yours to discuss your project with your partner. I will be walking around to tell you your assigned potions once you're all settled,"

The room was filled with the sound of chairs scraping and people rushing around to sit with their partners. Draco sat silently, staring straight ahead. He could feel Willow's eyes on him, presumably expecting him to stand up and walk over to her, but he knew if he sat still long enough she would come to him instead.

Indeed, he heard the chair next to him squeak and a bag fell heavily to the floor. He could see Willow's fingers drumming impatiently on the table out of the corner of his eye, and he finally turned to come face to face with her. She was staring at him with an exasperated look on her face, and he blinked slowly, making sure there was no visible emotion on his. Neither of them attempted to make any sort of greeting.

"Pick a potion," Slughorn said suddenly, having appeared at the side of their table with a large smile on his face. He was holding out a small, empty cauldron full of slips of paper. He shook it slightly to mix it up, and waited for one of them to pick one. Willow turned back to Draco and looked at him questioningly.

"Go ahead," Draco said dully, and she silently reached a hand into the cauldron. Slughorn watched excitedly as she pulled out a piece of folded parchment, opened it and read the name of the potion out loud.

"Draught of Peace," she said.

"Ooh, you're going to want to be careful with that one. Tricky, that one is," Slughorn exclaimed delightedly, before moving on to the next pair, leaving them alone again.

"Have you made this before?" Willow asked, not looking at Draco.

"Yes," he replied curtly. He somewhat remembered making it in Snape's class in his fifth year, but didn't dwell on the thought for too long. The memory of Severus Snape was a bit touchy; Snape had been his protector and was trusted deeply by Draco's parents, and Draco felt deep guilt when he thought about the bitterness he had had for the man and how badly he had treated him the past few years. _Can't take it back now_, he thought, but Willow interrupted his reflection.

"Great, so this should be easy," she said.

"Should be," Draco replied, a hint of sarcasm in his voice, and she shot him a look.

"We're going to have to work together on this, you know," she said angrily, "We might as well be friendly with each other,"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Draco said flatly, though he knew perfectly well.

"I know you don't like me," she continued, sticking her nose up in the air slightly, "But you could do me a favor and pretend that you do until this over,"

Draco almost told the girl he didn't owe her any favors, but bit his tongue. He didn't see the need to make the situation any more unpleasant than it already was.

"What makes you think I don't like you?" he forced himself to say, but it was still in the same monotonous tone. She raised her eyebrows slightly, surprised.

"Well, the only time you've ever talked to me was to tell me off. And you stormed out the room afterwards," she said, "It doesn't exactly seem like you're my biggest fan,"

"I haven't been anybody's biggest fan lately," he shrugged, and cursed himself as soon as the words left his mouth. Why was he saying this to her?

"Why?" she inquired curiously, searching his face.

"I don't want to talk about it," he said sharply, more angry with himself than he was with her. She was being nosy again, but he had instigated the question with his own words.

She nodded, looking disappointed and a bit cross, though whether with him or with herself Draco had no idea, before turning away and began flipping through a book. She stopped on a certain page and cleared her throat.

"Draught of Peace," she read, changing the subject, "But this is just the recipe. We're going to have to go to the library to research the ingredients and occurrences in history," she stopped to look at him expectantly, but he remained silent, "_Can_ we meet in the library?" she pressed.

Draco hesitated, then nodded once. The project did have to be done, after all, and he didn't trust the girl to do it herself. It was part of his grade and he wasn't about to put that responsibility in the hands of someone who was practically a stranger.

"Today? After dinner?" she asked.

He nodded again.

"So we'll meet in the front of the library at seven thirty then?" she continued, but it sounded more like a statement than a question.

"Fine," he responded.

She looked impatiently at him, and was pressing her lips together as if struggling to keep herself from saying something. He allowed himself to raise one eyebrow inquisitively, and she practically burst out a stream of words.

"Why are you so…so…_weird?" _she exclaimed, red in the face.

"I beg your pardon?" Draco said quietly.

"You don't show any emotion whatsoever. It's unsettling," she huffed, and looked slightly relieved, as if she had finally released something she had been holding onto for a long period of time. Draco looked at her silently for a moment, wondering the same thing he always wondered when she was around: why did she _care_ so much? It was truly baffling to him; he himself had never bothered himself to worry about someone he didn't even know. He had enough of his own problems to worry about, let alone someone else's.

"I just am," he finally said, and her expression just grew even more exasperated, "And it's really not any of your business,"

"I know, but-"she began, but her words were cut off by the ringing of the bell.

"Remember, one week from today!" Slughorn shouted over the cacophony of students racing to leave the room. Draco stood, collecting his books, and Willow watched, waiting for him to say something.

"See you in the library," he said tonelessy, and walked out the door, leaving her frustrated and alone in the Potions room for the second time.

**A/N: I love all of you that have followed, favorited or reviewed.**

**Specifically afiske1254 and chocykitty, who haven't failed to review every time I've posted a new chapter. You guys are the best, thank you!**

**Thanks for reading, and please review! :)**


	8. Enough

Willow ate her dinner lethargically, trying to create the illusion that time was going by slower than it actually was; she was _not _looking forward to meeting Draco in the library.

She chewed thoughtfully, staring at the spot he most likely would have been sitting in if he was actually at dinner, which he almost never was. Not that she checked specifically, of course. Her eyes just happened to have a habit of wandering and her usual spot at the Gryffindor table happened to be facing the Slytherin one. There wasn't much else to look at.

She had abandoned her previous resolve to not care about the Malfoy boy anymore; they were partners now, after all. And their second conversation did nothing but increase her curiosity about why he acted the way he did. She knew there was no possible way he actually didn't feel any emotion; he was just pretending not to. But _why_? She couldn't even wrap her mind around the concept. Emotion was the only thing that brought people together, that let them understand one another.

_Maybe that's exactly what it is_, she thought and sighed to herself. He didn't _want _anyone to understand him. He was clearly quietly suffering in his solitude, but he wanted it to stay that way. It was just so frustrating to Willow that someone could _prefer_ to be alone and push away anyone who tried to help.

It was hard to convince herself that it wasn't any of her business, but she felt a flicker of hope when she thought about how the two of them would have to spend some time together to work on the project and she might get a chance to see past his stoic outer image. A sense of dread still filled the pit of her stomach, though, when she thought about getting there. He may have denied it, or at least attempted to, but it was evident he didn't like her. Even if he did, spending alone time with a person who only possessed one tone of voice was not Willow's idea of fun.

"Want to play a game of Exploding Snap after this?" Ginny asked through a mouthful of mashed potatoes, interrupting Willow's musings.

"I can't," Willow shook her head sadly, "I have to meet Malfoy in the library to work on our project,"

"It was just assigned today," Ginny scrunched up her face in distaste.

"I'd rather get it over with as soon as possible," Willow sighed, and Ginny tilted her head in comprehension.

"_I'm_ not even starting until tomorrow," Hermione chimed in, and Harry look simultaneously relieved and impressed, as if not starting a project the day it was assigned was an extreme accomplishment for Hermione.

"You're partnered with Harry, and he doesn't act like a total prat," Willow muttered irritably, and immediately bit her tongue, regretting the words the second they left her mouth. The group eyed her with interest.

"I gather the two of you haven't been getting along?" Ginny said, raising her eyebrows.

"You never did tell us what happened," Ron piped up.

"Nothing did," Willow groaned.

"Then why did you call him a prat?" Harry asked, and Willow could've slapped herself. When would she learn to keep her mouth shut?

"Let's just say, when Slughorn told us to meet with our partners, he didn't exactly welcome with open arms," Willow lamented.

"Poisonous toadstools don't change their spots," Neville grumbled under his breath, clearly still bitter about Draco's previous actions.

"What exactly did he do?" Harry pressed, ignoring Neville, and Willow hesitated. She could explain to her friends why Draco Malfoy was getting on her nerves, but it was quite possible they would just believe she was being nosy and take his side. Looking around, she met their gazes, and they all wore expressions that were both inquisitive and concerned. Her heart warmed a little at much they all seemed to care about her, and she sighed, making up her mind to tell them.

"It's just," she began, sighing, and they all leaned in slightly closer, "He acts so _strangely_. I'll attempt to speak to him and he constantly looks as if he couldn't care less. And he always talks in short sentences, none of which have any emotion in them. They're all in the same monotonous tone, like he doesn't even have the ability to put any feeling behind his words. I don't even know why it bothers me so much, really. I reckon it's just because when I try to be nice to someone, it's aggravating when they don't make any effort to be nice back. It's not as if I've ever _done_ anything to him. He just automatically assumed he didn't like me. Or maybe he just doesn't like anyone, I don't know. Either way, it's extremely irritating, and I don't want to go spend the next week of my life working on a project with someone so…so _heartless_," she finished finally, relieved. She blushed, realizing just how much she had been rambling. But once she had gotten started, it was hard to stop without getting everything off her chest. She surprised even herself; she hadn't realized just how many things she had been keeping pent up, and how great it felt to finally say them.

Nobody said anything for a few moments.

_Oh Merlin, they think I'm a freak, _Willow thought frightfully, her heart pounding as she bit her lip and waited for a response.

"Well," Ginny said finally, "Draco's always been an ass, so that's no surprise,"

"He probably thinks he's too good for you," Neville said angrily.

"No, no," Hermione disagreed slowly, looking thoughtful, "I don't think that's it…I think he has a reason behind it,"

"Me too," Harry nodded in agreement, "I know what it feels like to want to be alone; I've been there. Sometimes people can be so deep in the pits that it doesn't feel like anyone can help, no matter what they say, so they cut themselves away from others,"

"I just don't understand how someone could not want to be helped," Willow complained.

"We know you want to help people, Willow," Ginny said softly, "But some people just _can't _be helped. He's not your responsibility. Don't let it worry you. He'll be fine eventually,"

Willow mulled this over for a moment, but decided silently that it was easier said than done. She had tried not caring for the past few weeks, but it never worked, no matter how convincing her pretense. There was always the tiny, pestering voice at the back of her head that reminded her constantly of Draco's brooding face and his constant disregard for the comfort of others. It was like he had become her little mission, something that she had never had before, owning to the fact that no one had ever denied her assistance. It wasn't just a matter of helping _him_ anymore; it was also a matter of personal pride.

"Ginny's right," Ron concurred, "Just let it go," The rest of the group murmured their agreement, though Neville still had a particularly sour look on his face.

"As for the project, you'll get through it," Hermione said in what Willow presumed was supposed to be an encouraging tone, "Just don't let him get to you, and try not to care so much. It'll be easier that way,"

_Also easier said than done, _Willow thought and opened her mouth to argue, but thought better of it.

"You're right," she forced herself to say, "I'll drop it. Thanks," she smiled falsely, but her friends seemed to believe her. They all grinned back, looking proud of themselves, and returned to their momentarily forgotten dinners. Willow, after checking her watch and seeing that she only had eight minutes before she was supposed to meet Draco, shoveled the last few bites of her carrot mash into her mouth then stood up, gathering her belongings.

"Off to the library?" Ginny looked at her reproachfully.

"Unfortunately," Willow said through gritted teeth.

"Have fun!" Harry exclaimed sarcastically, and she laughed shortly before bidding them all goodbye and turning towards the exit of the Great Hall. She made her way up to the library and got there just when the clock turned to seven thirty. Remembering that they had agreed to meet outside the entrance, she leaned against the wall and waited, glancing down the corridor every few seconds to see if there was a pale-haired boy walking towards her. Students walked in and out of the large doors, glancing at her curiously. Whether this was because of the fact that she was still a relatively new student, or because she was standing outside the library by herself, she wasn't sure. The minutes ticked by, and she grew more and more impatient. Fifteen minutes later, she had almost given up and was about to go back to the common room, when Draco finally appeared beside her, as if out of nowhere. Unsurprisingly, he didn't offer any sort of greeting. He just stood there, looking at her blankly and blinking slowly. Willow clenched her fists.

"You're late," she hissed, but he didn't look fazed at all. The conversation with her friends at dinner had only made her angry, and she was taking it out on Draco. He deserved it, after all. Showing up fifteen minutes late, the git. All the pity she had felt before had turned into fury. She had had enough. If friendliness wasn't going to get him to talk, maybe the opposite would.

"I was busy," he said shortly, and Willow had to stop herself from making a snide remark about how it was hard to be busy when you had nobody to speak to. Instead, she stomped into the library, not looking at him, and chose an empty table in the middle of the room on purpose, though she knew he would prefer the corner. He did look uncomfortable for a moment, but calmly pulled out the chair across from her and sat, his hands folded on the table. Willow slammed her Potions book down, opening it roughly to the bookmarked page about the Draught of Peace.

"Well?" she said sharply, looking up at him expectedly.

"What?"

"Which part of the project should we do first?"

"I don't care,"

"I wasn't asking if you cared," Willow said, struggling to keep her voice down, and Draco raised one eyebrow but didn't comment on her spiteful tone, "I _said_, which part of the project should we do first?" she repeated.

"Whichever part you want to do," he answered, bored, and she almost screamed. It was hard to feel sorry for him when he acted like this, and for a moment, she felt as if she _could_ take her friend's advice and stop caring. She didn't need the frustration in her life; she had enough to worry about. But the annoying voice in her head told her otherwise. She couldn't stop caring, no matter what she did. It just wasn't in her nature.

"In that case," she said, pulling a piece of parchment out of her bag, "I'll do the list of ingredients, and you do the essay about the uses in history,"

"Fine," Draco shrugged, seemingly not caring in the least bit that she had assigned him the more difficult part of the assignment.

"Fine," she repeated, and stood up. She paused, waiting for him to ask where she was going, but he only looked at her vacantly, "I'm going to ask the librarian for books,"

Draco shrugged in response. With a huff of resentment, Willow turned and scanned the room for Madam Pince.

This was going to be even harder than she had thought.

**A/N: I still get super excited every time I get a new review! I love your reviews so much, thank you. :')**


	9. Mad

Draco could have kissed himself.

He had purposefully waited a couple corridors away from the one that led to the library, watching the clock on the wall and waiting until it was fifteen minutes after the time he and Willow had agreed to meet before making his way to where she was leaning against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest and an extremely impatient look on her face. He knew his tardiness would get on her nerves; he didn't have to know her well at all to discern the fact that she was oversensitive. Even a person with a normal amount of sensitivity would be annoyed with him for showing up so late and not offering any sort of apology or explanation. He presumed that by maddening her, he could stop her from trying to meddle in his business. The less she liked him, the less she would care, or so he thought. And then everything could finally go back to the way it was before.

The way everything had been before wasn't completely satisfactory either, but it least it involved him and him only, not some annoying girl who thought she could help him even though she had absolutely no idea what he was going through. He had felt hatred for others before, sure, but that wasn't what he felt for her; it was full-fledged _irritation_. He hadn't met anyone before who had caused him as much exasperation as she did. It was as if she resented him for not accepting her offer to help him. As if he had an _obligation_ to accept. Why should he? He didn't know her and he didn't particularly want to, either. It wasn't fair that he should feel even a miniscule amount of guilt because of her, yet he infuriatingly did, and he was tired of it. He had enough to feel guilty about.

Now, as he watched her march up to Madam Pince and ask for books to help them with their project, he thought about how strange a pair the two of them made. He didn't have nearly enough emotion lately; she had far too much. The girl was a whirlwind of emotion; one minute she could be full of pity for him, the next the sight of him seemed to disgust her. He wondered how she managed to not go mad. He reckoned if he had that many conflicting feelings, his head would burst.

That was another reason why he chose not to let emotion rule his life. He figured it would simplify things.

_Until she came along_, he thought darkly. Willow had complicated everything. She had turned what he thought was a simplification of his life into a constant dilemma in his mind. He didn't care what anyone else thought, not when they left him alone, but she wouldn't, so it was impossible not to care.

Draco almost groaned out loud and sank lower in his chair. The muddled thoughts in his brain were about to make _him _go mad.

Willow was coming back now, her arms loaded with numerous books. She placed them all on the table, and wiped her hands off on her robes, settling back into her seat.

"Let's get started then," she said in a strained tone of voice, and began flipping through the pages of the book nearest to her.

Wordlessly, Draco slowly rummaged through his bag and took out a roll of parchment, a quill, and a bottle of in. He pulled one of the unused books toward him and opened it to the table of contents. After ragging his finger down the list until he found what he was looking for, he turned to the chapter labeled "The Draught of Peace: More Trouble Than It's Worth?", dipped his quill in the ink and began to write. Stealing a quick glance in front of him, he noticed Willow had already written a description of the first ingredient, and was now meticulously drawing a picture of porcupine quills, the tip of her tongue poking through her pursed lips.

He turned back to his paper and wrote quickly but carefully. If there was one thing he did care about, it was his marks. This was his last year of school before he was expected to start a career, and he still wasn't quite sure what he wanted to do. He reckoned getting a job at the Ministry, which the majority of graduating students went on to do, might be harder for him than for certain others, considering his Dark background. If his grades were spectacular, however, his unfortunate history might be overlooked, or so he hoped. Therefore, he had opted to take as many classes as he possibly could and was working hard to receive top marks in all of them. He thought about Snape with a pang, remembering how his favorite professor had always given him the best scores, with minimal effort on Draco's part. With Slughorn, however, it wasn't quite as easy, so he was determined to do an exquisite job on this project, which he presumed would be heavily weighted in terms of the final grade in the class. He wasn't about to become a jobless bum after his time at Hogwarts was up; the last thing he wanted to do was be a disappointment to his family name. His parents meant too much to him; he had to continue their legacy, especially now that they could not.

The thought of his parents simultaneously managed to further depress him and urge him to work even harder than he already was. Half an hour later, he had finished his second paragraph and was starting his third, describing how a badly-brewed batch of the Draught of Peace that had been meant to peacefully stop a goblin rebellion in Italy went terribly wrong and ended up putting twelve goblins in an everlasting slumber. The same tickle in his throat he had been feeling every so often for the past few weeks showed up again, and he coughed suddenly.

Willow paused in her attempt to draw syrup of hellebore and looked up, her eyebrows furrowed. She frowned as Draco continued to cough, clearly battling between still being angry with him and helping him. Madam Pince shot the both of them a stern look, upset by the noise in her otherwise quiet library.

"Anapneo," she said finally, pointing her wand at Draco's neck, but his coughing failed to cease and she looked at him incredulously, frazzled. Draco Summoned a goblet of water and drank it quickly, his throat instantly relieved.

"What was that spell supposed to do?" he asked her after Vanishing the goblet back, unable to suppress his curiosity.

"It's a Healing charm. It's supposed to clear throats. I have no idea why it didn't work," she said quietly, not looking at him. The fact that she had failed in her attempt was clearly a matter of deep distress to her; Draco reckoned the spell had never flopped for her before.

"There was nothing in my throat to clear, it was only an itch," Draco mumbled, turning back to his essay without a smidgeon of concern. There was no way he was going to give her _another _reason to be worried about him; that was the last thing he needed, especially considering how well things had been going so far. She hadn't asked him one question about anything that didn't have to do with the project, and it was very refreshing. His explanation seemed to satisfy her, and she went to pick up her quill when Draco yawned. She eyed him apprehensively.

"Tired?" she asked, though her voice was more accusing than curious. Draco cursed himself for not stifling the yawn. Her lack of questions had, of course, been too good to be true. He shrugged in response, "It's barely past eight," she said stonily, raising an eyebrow.

"Pardon me for not knowing there was a specific time frame in which I have permission to be tired," Draco said dully. His neutral mood, which was relatively good compared to recent situations, was punctured. The girl was a complete pain in the neck; even a simple _yawn_ earned him an interrogation. He wondered briefly how she had managed to make friends; he could never handle being around her _often_. Just in the couple times he had been forced to spend time with her, she had already irritated him to no means.

Willow looked as if she was about to say something, but, miraculously, she chose not to comment, opting instead to rest her chin on her hand. She stared off into the distance and seemed to be mulling something over in her thoughts; after a moment, she shook her head. She shut the book that was open next to her and rolled up the parchment she had been writing on.

"We've gotten plenty done and we still have a week to complete the project," she said, packing her supplies back into her bag, "I say we're finished for the night," she said as she took the book Draco had been working from, not giving him much of a choice in the matter. The cold gesture almost lifted his spirits; she was clearly still miffed.

_Hopefully she stays that way_, he thought, and stood to leave after packing his things away. He almost said "goodnight", watching as she struggled to fit all the books she had checked out into her already overflowing bag, but thought better of it and walked away without a word, leaving the library and making his way down to the Slytherin common room, thinking about his dormitory and the bed waiting for him.

After all, what should he care if she had a good night or not?

**A/N: So I'm currently in the middle of rereading the HP series, and right now I'm on Order of the Phoenix and I just read a quote that I had forgotten about but that I think matches this story, specifically this chapter and Draco's thoughts about Willow. I thought I would put in here because why not.**

**It's when Hermione tells Ron "Just because you have the emotional range of a teaspoon doesn't mean we all have." after she explains the mixed-up emotions Cho is feeling and Ron says she couldn't possibly feel that many different things at once. It made me laugh and kind of inspired parts of this chapter, so I dunno, just thought I would share. :)**

**Reviews are always appreciated! I love you guys!**


	10. Confused

Finally managing to shove the last remaining book into her bag, which was dangerously close to ripping apart at the seams, Willow looked up to say goodbye to Draco, but noticed, with a sigh, that he was already slipping through the door of the library.

She followed him out into the corridor, but they were going in different directions. Turning left as he continued forward, she hurried along down the hallway and towards the Gryffindor tower, wondering if she could still make it in time for a game of Gobstones. All she wanted was to relax for a while, try to get the pounding sensation behind her temples to go away.

She was feeling many different things at once, but, above all else, she was filled with confusion. She didn't even know what to think about Draco anymore. There was the pity and desire to help, as always. There was also frustration because of him and his refusal of her offer, as well as because of herself; the latter stemmed from the pestering voice in her mind that told her she was being unreasonable and that he had no obligation to accept her help. Bitterness was still present because of all the times she had wished for a stranger's assistance and didn't receive any, and he denied the opportunity when he had it. Anger persisted because of Draco's rudeness which, even though they weren't friends and she kind of deserved it, was still upsetting. And, lastly, there was the guilt because she knew _she_ was being rude as well, though it pained her to admit it.

It was too much; parted of her wanted to curl up in a ball and sleep for ages. Maybe then, when she woke up, her problems would have disappeared. And if not, at least her dreams were peaceful and not filled with a swirling plethora of conflicting emotions. Her poor brain was almost near its bursting point, just like her book bag; if she tried to squeeze one more emotion in along with all the previously stated, not to mention the stress of getting good marks, completing homework and thinking about entering the real world and starting a career after this year was over, she was almost certain her head would actually implode. She thought with a sort of sick humor about what the newspaper headlines would say: _Overemotional Brain Admits Defeat. _

As she neared closer to the portrait blocking the entrance to the common room, she tried her best to keep Draco out of her mind, but it was no use. Her obsession was mounting, as much as she wanted it to disappear. She realized how creepy it would seem to a normal person if she told them how dedicated she was to the wellbeing of someone who was practically a stranger. It would be even creepier if they knew about Draco's obvious distaste for her: _Oh, yeah, I really want to help this guy and make him happy but he doesn't even want me to help him. In fact, he kind of dislikes me. A lot._

It was ridiculous and she knew it, but try as she did, she couldn't get those dull, gray eyes out of her head, especially now that they posed a challenge. Her pride was bruised by her inability to help, even though it wasn't her fault. One can't help another when he doesn't want to be helped.

_I couldn't even help him with a cough, _she thought to herself bitterly, the lasting humiliation of being so sure her charm would work and having it backfire causing her cheeks to burn slightly.

Arriving at the portrait of the Fat Lady, she absent-mindedly mumbled the password and clambered through the hole into the common room. Her friends were crowded around the fire, and she craned her neck to see the table by them, noticing with slight disappointment there was no distracting game to be found.

"Hey," she announced, stepping closer to them. They had all been talking quietly, their heads slightly leaned together, and more than one of them jumped when she spoke. They all blinked up at her with undeniably guilty looks on their faces.

"Er, hey, Willow," Ginny tried to say cheerily, but she looked more sheepish than anyone else.

"All right?" Harry smiled weakly, avoiding her gaze.

"What's…going on?" Willow asked hesitantly, her stomach sinking as she thought about her outburst at the dinner table earlier and how quick she had been to believe them when they seemed to not think too much of her dilemma.

"Nothing!" Hermione exclaimed a little too quickly, then changed the subject, "How is your project going?"

"Were you talking about me?" Willow asked quietly, ignoring Hermione's question. Every word she had said in the Great Hall was running through her mind. She knew they thought she was a freak, she just knew it.

"No, no," Ron tried to urge, but the reassurance in his voice was clearly forced. Ginny shot him a look, then turned back to Willow with a sigh.

"Okay, yes, we were talking about you," she admitted, and Willow's heart dropped. It was no surprise that she already messed up perhaps the best friendships she had ever had. She had done it before; one of the relatively closest friends she had had, a girl named Lisa at a school in Switzerland, stopped talking to her after Willow helped Elena, whom Lisa was in a fight with, with homework. Lisa called her a "traitor" and said that she had picked the other girl's side, and refused to talk to Willow after that. They still weren't speaking when Willow had to switch schools three weeks later. To be fair, they were only in their second year at the time and Lisa was known to be a bit overdramatic and capable of holding a grudge, but Willow blamed herself. If she had the ability to say no when Elena had asked for her help, Willow and Lisa might still have been friends. _But I screwed up_, Willow thought darkly, _And now I've done it again_.

"Don't look so upset," Neville pleaded, and only then did Willow realize her eyelids were drooping and her lips were curled into a frown, "We're just worried about you, is all,"

"Worried about me," Willow repeated skeptically, managing to keep her voice from trembling, though she wasn't as lucky with her lower lip.

"Yeah, Willow, you're…" Hermione sighed, struggling to find the right word to complete her thought, "You're being irrational," she said finally. Willow stared silently at her for a few moments, realizing she was still standing while everyone else was sitting and looking awkwardly up at her, then flopped down onto an empty armchair with a huff of resignation.

"I know I am," she mumbled, propping her elbow on the arm of the chair and resting her forehead on her hand. Her hope for a relaxing night was gone; her headache was only getting worse.

"You do?" Harry said lightly.

"Yes," Willow conceded, then faltered, "We are talking about the situation with Malfoy, right?" she asked hesitantly, noticing, not for the first time, that she called the boy Draco in her thoughts but, for some unknown reason, never used his first name in conversation.

"Yeah," Ron nodded, continuing before she had a chance to say something, "What we think is that you're putting too much pressure on yourself, and none of us really believed you at dinner when you said you would forget about it,"

"Like we said before," Harry picked up from where Ron left off, "Some people can't be helped; Malfoy's one of them. And even if he could…now, don't get offended or anything…" he stopped, wincing slightly.

"What?" Willow asked with trepidation.

"Harry is just trying to say that even if Malfoy could be helped," Ginny said softly and apologetically, "It wouldn't be by you,"

"Oh?" was all Willow could think to say in response.

"He doesn't even know you, you know?" Hermione said, her voice just as soft as Ginny's, "There are people at this school that he's known practically his whole life, and that's he's been good friends with in the past. Like Goyle, or Blaise Zabini, or Pansy Parkinson," she explained, then added as a sort of bitter afterthought, "Though why anyone would want to be friends with _Pansy _is beyond me,"

"Try being her Potions partner," Ginny grumbled under her breath.

"Anyway," Hermione continued, shooting Ginny an apologetic look, "If Malfoy _did _want help from somebody, wouldn't it make more sense for him to go to one of his old friends than to a stranger?"

"I suppose," Willow nodded, feeling more and more embarrassed by the second. So maybe they didn't think she was a freak, but they did, however, find her foolish. She wasn't sure which was worse.

"Right, so," Ron smiled weakly, "What do you say you don't waste your time on people who don't want you in their lives and spend more time with those who do?"

"_Ron_," Hermione hissed, and he looked at her incredulously.

"What?"

"There are nicer ways to say things," Hermione whispered, but everyone could hear her perfectly, and, to Willow's surprise, she felt the corners of her mouth lift. Her friends all watched her, looking relieved.

"Thank you," Willow said, and they continued to gaze at her curiously, "For wanting me in your lives," she said in a happily teasing way, looking at Ron, "But really, thanks. For caring about me," she still had to struggle to keep her voice from trembling, but the rush of emotion overtaking her was different now.

"You're not angry with us?" Neville asked hopefully.

"No, I can't be," Willow chuckled quietly, "Because you're right. I knew I was being unreasonable, I just couldn't help it,"

"Just focus on your friends, and on your schoolwork," Hermione advised, beaming at her, "And you really will forget about him, just wait and see,"

"I'll try," Willow responded with a smile, "Just…one thing…" she said hesitantly, blushing.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

"Why _do _you care so much about me?" she asked, a bit embarrassed.

"We could ask you the same thing about Malfoy," Ron laughed, and Willow realized, cursing herself, that there was truth behind his words. They had a reason for thinking she was a bit dim; she thought so herself sometimes. Specifically when she asked questions that she couldn't have answered for the life of her if she had been the one being asked.

"We're your friends, Willow," Harry said, "So of course we care about you. I reckon that's just the way it works,"

"That's doesn't answer my question. Willow and Draco are hardly _friends_," Ron pointed out, but went silent when Hermione gave him another pointed look.

"Just drop it, Ron," she tried to whisper, though she should have known by then that she wasn't very good at keeping her voice down, "Talking about it won't make her forget anytime sooner,"

Willow didn't speak, but looked at Hermione gratefully. She had no idea what she had done to be blessed with the friendship of people like them, but she wasn't about to let it go to waste because of Malfoy. They were too good to her; even when they thought she was being stupid, they let her know in the nicest way possible and didn't show any signs of not wanting to be around her anymore. At least not any that she recognized; because of her unfortunate talent for losing friends, she knew the signs fairly well.

"Now that that's all out of the way, I think we still have time for a game of Gobstones," Ginny exclaimed, wiggling her eyebrows and smiling mischievously, "If any of you is willing to lose,"

"Oh, you're _on_," Harry grinned, and everyone slid off their chairs and onto the floor, crowding around the table and watching excitedly as the pair began a game.

"Winner plays the next person," Ginny said absent-mindedly, staring at the board in front of her and presumably strategizing.

"I'll go next," Neville offered.

"Well then, you're going to play me," Ginny tore her eyes off the board to smile at him.

"In your dreams," Harry laughed.

Willow was perfectly content with sitting back and observing her friends as they cheered Ginny and Harry on. She smiled slightly as she saw Neville's undeniably happy face, whispering pointers to Ginny. On the opposite side of the table, Ron and Hermione were egging Harry on, and Willow noticed, her heart fluttering, that their hands were clasped together under the table. Harry, though Ginny was currently his rival, unnecessarily brushed his hand against hers at times, and Ginny was unable to restrain herself from smiling. A happy giggling spread when Harry was squirted in the face by a gobstone, and, spitting, he wiped the putrid liquid off his mouth with the sleeve of his robe before grinning along with everyone else.

Willow knew that, despite her friends' advice, she wouldn't be able to forget about Draco no matter how hard she tried, but she sure as hell wasn't going to let anyone know that, not even Draco himself.

She had too much to lose.

**A/N: Please, please, please review!**

**Also, I feel really bad, but there's a large chance I won't be able to update at all in the next couple of weeks. I'm spending all of this following week visiting family, and I'll be gone on vacation the week after that. I'll try my best to make time to write, but it might not happen, so I thought it would be best to let those of you who are following this story know. Sorry! :(**

_**Edit:**_** So I've been told that Willow has too many problems, but at the same time, I've also been told she's a Mary Sue, meaning she's tooperfect. So I'm kind of at a loss. I would be super grateful for any suggestions or advice. Thanks! **


	11. Change

"Draco!"

Draco, walking to Transfiguration the next day, alone as usual, turned around cautiously at the sound of his name being called, and saw Willow rushing down the corridor towards him.

_Oh, great, what now?_, he thought bitterly as she came closer. Her hair had fallen over her face while she was running, and she swept it out of her eyes awkwardly, panting slightly. Draco raised an eyebrow; the distance she had run was not _that_ long. He again felt that pestering twitch of his lips, and scowled slightly to keep the corners of his mouth from turning up.

"Library at six tonight? To work on our project?" she asked finally, seemingly not taking notice of his expression, and Draco hesitated, but nodded in response. It wasn't as if he had anything better to do, and the project had to be completed eventually. He was a little surprised that she had been willing to walk up to him, after the way he had treated her the day before and her cold response to it. He really shouldn't have been shocked, though; he knew perfectly well that her emotions were unpredictable.

Wordlessly, she turned and walked back to the Weasley girl, who was standing a few metres away with a slightly apprehensive look on her face. Draco stood frozen; he thought she would have said more, maybe harassed him about how he was feeling or called him out for not being "nice" to her. But no, she walked away with her friend without a glance in his direction. Her carefree manner was a bit disconcerting.

Draco shook his head and continued, telling himself that he didn't care if her behavior was different than usual. He blamed it again on the oversupply of emotions she seemed to possess; if he had that many conflicting feelings fluttering around in his head, his attitude would be different everyday as well. Lucky for him, every day was the same. It was only when Willow was around that he grew confused, and he again cursed Slughorn for pairing them up on the project and forcing them to interact. He was sure the old man had done it on purpose, though he had little incentive to believe so.

He fumed his way down the hallway, clenching his fists a little tighter at his sides. First, he had been upset by her constant meddling; now, he was frustrated that she suddenly didn't seem to care anymore. Her bipolarity was driving him mad.

He resolved, with clenched teeth, to finish the Potions project as quickly as possible; as soon as it was finished, he would, hopefully, never have to talk to Willow again.

* * *

He walked into the library five minutes after six, cutting his tardiness by ten whole minutes. Instead of waiting outside the door as she had done the day before, Willow had already seated herself at a table, her head bent over the parchment in front of her.

Draco silently walked up, pulled out a chair, and dropped his bag to the ground a bit harder than necessary. Willow lifted her head, noticing him finally.

"Hello," she said brightly, then averted her attention back to her paper without a second word. Draco waited for her to say something else, but to no avail. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, unused to her silence, but pulled out his half-finished essay and began to write. They sat there, both working on their individual papers, for a few unusually muted moments. Draco was constantly tense, knowing it couldn't be too long until Willow spoke. He thought with infuriating curiosity that something must have happened to make her act the way she was, and it wasn't because of him this time, or at least he didn't think so. But if he knew anything about the girl, which he unfortunately did, it was that she could not keep her mouth shut for extended periods of time. Half an hour of silence punctured only by Draco's occasionally irrepressible coughs passed, but, sure enough, he heard her voice again.

"How far along are you?" she asked, peering over his hand at his paper. Draco's mouth twitched, and he felt satisfaction at the fact that he knew she couldn't stay silent forever.

"I've got a couple paragraphs left," he responded, shifting his arm so she couldn't judge what he had already written. He didn't need her criticism.

"Oh," she answered, and looked at him expectedly. Draco tried to ignore her, knowing exactly what she wanted, but it was hard to concentrate on writing with her piercing gaze constantly on him. He groaned inwardly.

"How far along are _you_?" he said dully, and she smiled.

"Oh, I'm finished," she tried to say nonchalantly, and Draco felt a surge of annoyance at the prideful look on her face. He had always been one to brag, but it was irritating as hell when he was on the receiving end, "There really aren't very many ingredients,"

"Well, I'll try to hurry along then," Draco said, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Do you want help?" she blurted out, then seemed to realize what she had said. She blushed deeply, sinking back into her chair and looked embarrassed. Draco felt slightly embarrassed too; it was a little sad that she would feel humiliated about offering to help with her own project. Did he really make her feel so guilty that even that much was unacceptable? For once, the two of them were sitting opposite each other, both feeling slight remorse. Draco struggled with himself for a moment, then, admitting defeat, opened his mouth to speak.

"Fine,"

Willow looked at him incredulously, then seemed to perk up.

"Really?" she squeaked, and there was an obviously hopeful glint in her eye.

"Yeah," he mumbled, not looking at her, but she didn't seem to notice. She stood up, pulling her chair over to his side of the table and settling down next to him. He unconsciously scooted away from her slightly; he didn't like when people were too close to him.

"Alright, let me read what you have written already," she said, then added, as an afterthought, "Please,"

Draco didn't speak, just slid his parchment over to her and waited impatiently as she scanned over it, regretting his decision to let her help already.

"This is great," Willow said finally, looking up at him, impressed. Draco shrugged; he knew it was good, "What were you thinking for the last two paragraphs?" she asked, and Draco's regret deepened; he really hated questions that required a lengthy explanation. They couldn't be answered with a nod or a shrug, which was his usual solution.

"I was going to look for one more example, and then just a conclusion,"

"I don't think the extra example is necessary," she bit her lip, glancing back at the scroll, "You've already written more than the required amount,"

"But-" Draco began, but decided it wasn't worth debating with the girl, "Alright," he said dully.

"So just the conclusion then," she said, her voice irritatingly perky. Draco realized how happy he had made her just by not rejecting her offer to help with the essay. Surprisingly, he felt a bit lighter as he stared at her exuberant expression. It had been awhile since he had caused someone's happiness; he would be lying if he said the feeling wasn't even the least bit enjoyable. The change in his demeanor was miniscule, but it was there. What surprised him most, however, was that it was _her _who brought it on.

"Right," he replied, clearing his throat after a moment of awkward silence, "I'll just do that then," he added, his voice slightly strained from the unexpected twist in his emotion, picking up his quill with one hand and hesitantly sliding the parchment back over to himself with the other.

_What's going on with me_?, he thought to himself, his mind racing. He didn't think that being nice to others could make him feel even slightly better. Previously, his mindset had been that, if he couldn't be lighthearted and happy, then he would do his best to make sure others weren't either, at least not when they were around him. But the accidental slip with Willow, and the way her face had lit up, had altered that. The overbearing guilt he constantly carried around with him felt a milligram lighter; it was a strange thought, but it was his belief that he felt _good _about himself. It was a nice feeling for a moment, but the image of his parents cowering in a cell flashed into his head, and the feeling passed. Still, he felt…different.

"Er, Draco?" Willow spoke, and for a second, her voice seemed to be coming from miles away. Snapping out of his reverie, Draco looked around at her and blinked, "You haven't written anything," she said quietly, motioning towards his hand, which was clutched tightly around his quill. He loosened his grip, wincing when he noticed the outline of the quill branded into his palm, red and painful.

"Oh, er, right, sorry," he fumbled for words, his composure ruined. Willow stared at him curiously, opened her mouth as if to say something, seemed to think better of it, and looked back at the parchment, shaking her head slightly.

"Well, what were you thinking?" she asked, and noticing Draco's eyes narrow slightly, hastily added, "For the end of the essay, I mean," Draco relaxed slightly, but cursed her inquisitive manner. Another unavoidable question.

"I was thinking…" he began, still distracted by his thoughts and unsure what to say, "Something about how the Draught of Peace can be helpful in, er, certain situations, but…has to be created perfectly if the maker wants to avoid, um, unpleasant situations?" he stuttered, wishing he could relieve himself of _this_ unpleasant situation. He noticed with a pang of self-hatred that his voice had risen at the end of his sentence, making it sound more like a question. He didn't want Willow to think he cared about her approval, because he didn't. Not really.

"Great," Willow replied, nodding slowly and eyeing him strangely. He didn't blame her. He didn't know why he was acting so weirdly either.

_She's rubbing off on me_, he thought bitterly. He had just been thinking about her unpredictable emotional changes earlier in the day; he almost shuddered at the thought of ending up like her. Just one tiny shift in his mood was making him feel crazy. It had been so long since he had felt anything different than his usual depressing feelings. Noticing that her gaze was still on him, he realized he still hadn't begun writing, and quickly dipped his quill into ink and began scribbling on the parchment. Her uncomfortable stare was following his hand as he wrote, and he hastened to finish quickly, wishing for her to stop looking at him.

"Finished," he said quietly five minutes later, capping his ink well and placing his quill down on the table. Without asking for permission, Willow slid the scroll back over to herself, scanning over the last paragraph of writing, muttering the words under her breath.

"Fantastic," she said finally, beaming, and rolled up the scroll before handing it back to him, "We're sure to get full marks,"

"Mhm," Draco murmured, placing the scroll in his bag.

"I don't understand why Slughorn gave us an entire week if we managed to complete the assignment in only a few hours," she chirped.

"Other people have better things to do," Draco said dully, continuing to pack up his belongings, then felt a slight pang of guilt.

"Er, yes, I suppose so," she furrowed her eyebrows, looking slightly offended, "I reckon I could have been spending time with my friends instead,"

"I'm sure you could have," Draco replied, trying not to sound sarcastic. _And I could have been in bed_, he thought, looking forward to going to sleep. The hours he spent in slumber tended to be his favorite hours of the day, as long as he wasn't having any nightmares. However, though he hated to admit it, the past hour he had spent with Willow hadn't been as bad as he had thought it would be. He hadn't enjoyed himself, necessarily, but he was halfway there, and that was more than he could say about most situations.

"Well, we're finished then, aren't we?" Willow said, standing up and slinging her bag over her shoulder.

"We still have to make the potion," Draco pointed out, and her face fell slightly. He tried not to take it too personally, but still felt a bit offended. He knew his company wouldn't be anyone's first choice, but there was still a bit of hurt feelings involved when he realized just how dreadful the girl found him.

"Oh, of course," she replied, and scrunched up her nose in thought, "Is two nights from now alright with you?" Draco knew she was just being courteous; it was a bit obvious he wouldn't have any plans.

"That's fine," he shrugged, and she smiled at him, taking him aback slightly. He had thought she was disappointed about having to spend more time with him based on her previous reaction, but her grin seemed to say otherwise. He couldn't help but wonder if her crestfallen expression had been for different reasons. For the third time that day, his lips jerked, but he didn't smile back.

"I'll see you then," she said in farewell, her smile faltering at his lack of warmth, before turning on her heel and walking out the door of the library.

Twice now, it had been Willow leaving a confused Draco behind, instead of the other way around.

He had had a _very _perplexing day.

**A/N: Hello, hello, I missed this! **

**I got back from my aunt's house last night and won't be leaving for vacation until a couple days from now, so definitely expect at least one more chapter from me before I disappear for about a week.**

**Thanks for the reviews! :)**

**A super big thanks goes out to xXChickenButt98Xx for reviewing seven chapters in one night, that made my day, thank you so much! **


	12. Mistake

Not a word about Draco Malfoy had been mentioned since the conversation in the common room, something for which Willow was grateful.

She didn't know if her friends skirted around the topic on purpose or if it genuinely didn't cross their minds, but, either way, their constant habit of pulling her into discussions about distracting topics such as the ridiculous amount of homework they had to do or the Quidditch scores in the Daily Prophet certainly helped to take her mind off of Draco and his tantalizing secrecy. The pale, sullen face rarely appeared in her thoughts when she was preoccupied in taking part in a heated debate about which two teams would make the next World Cup; she sided with Ron in his argument that Luxembourg was sure to land a spot, which left Harry and Ginny sputtering that Portugal was doing much better and would take Luxembourg out for sure. She didn't really care about Quidditch all that much; most of what she knew was from her father's rants at the dinner table. Her family's location may have changed frequently, but her father's obsession with the sport remained, and he was constantly babbling about it over chicken soup while Willow and her mother rolled their eyes. Still, some things he had said must have stuck, and thinking about broomsticks and Snitches was more enjoyable and less guilt-inducing than thinking about her Potions partner.

She had told her friends that she would give up on Draco, and she wished more than anything that she could keep her promise. She certainly made sure that she never let his name, or anything related to him, slip. The topic of Potions was avoided completely when she had the choice; she didn't want any of her friends asking how it was going and risk the chance of betraying her secret thoughts. Whenever she was alone, which was usually only when she was in bed, unable to sleep, she stared at the ceiling and wracked her brain, scanning through all of Draco's words and gestures since the first day of term and reading into them, obsessively thinking about what she could do to get rid of the constant grimace on his face, even though she knew it was none of her business.

However, she couldn't help but think that maybe her worries were becoming a little less intrusive now that the two of them were at least _acquaintances._ She hated that word; she knew it was what people used when they knew each other well enough not to be strangers, but didn't like each other enough to consider themselves friends. As much as the term pained her, she would be idiotic to call herself and Draco anything more. The most he had ever opened up to her was to allow her to help with his essay, which was also part of _her _project, so it really wasn't much to brag about. It was better than nothing, though, and his cold front had melted slightly but discernibly when she sat down next to him. It had made her feel hopeful, which she begrudgingly reckoned might be even worse.

She wished the project would just be over, and she wouldn't have an excuse to speak to Draco.

Maybe then she could actually forget about him.

* * *

Willow looked down at her watch and noticed with a wince that she only had five minutes until six. She had again corned Draco in the corridor and set a time to meet, and had again walked away without a second look at him, which was hard for her but, at the same time, a bit satisfying.

"Listen, I have to go. I'm meeting Dr-er, I'm going down to the Potions room to finish my project," she stuttered, standing up from the table in the Great Hall where the rest of the Gryffindors were seated, finishing the last morsels of their dinners.

"Finish?" Ginny squeaked, looking at her incredulously, "Parkinson and I haven't even _started. _I reckon neither of us wants to go up to the other and actually set up a time to work. I wouldn't come near her with a ten-foot broomstick if I had the choice," she grumbled.

"Harry and I are almost done as well," Hermione quipped, and Harry grinned, rolling his eyes at Ginny.

"Yes, but it's you, so that's no surprise at all," she retorted, before turning to her brother for support, "You haven't started yet either, have you?"

"Er, well, you see, I don't even remember my partner's name, if that answers your question," Ron answered sheepishly, shoveling a forkful of potatoes in his mouth and reddening slightly at everyone's laughter.

"Yeah, well, I'll be happy to be finished," Willow said darkly, "I'm about to be late, I'll see you all later,"

She waved goodbye and headed out the door and towards the entrance to the dungeons. The clocks on the wall all chimed six, and she sped up momentarily, then, remembering Draco's disregard for punctuality, slowed down and casually walked towards the Potions room, presuming that she would still be there before him, even with her tardiness. To her surprise, Draco was already leaning lazily against the wall, coughing into his fist, when she arrived.

"You're on time," she said, unable to hide the disbelief in her voice.

"And you're late," he responded, cocking an eyebrow.

"Oh, come on, as if you're one to judge," she scoffed, and she thought she saw the corner of his mouth twitch, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. It wasn't the first time; there were a couple times in the library where she had discerned the same movement of lips, but each time she contributed it to her hopeful imagination. The idea of Draco _smiling _just seemed a bit ludicrous. Wordlessly, he turned and walked into the classroom, and she followed closely behind. Unsurprisingly, the room was empty aside from several gurgling cauldrons; she presumed most students were in situations similar to Ginny's or Ron's. Also unsurprisingly, Draco took a spot as his usual table in the back of the room, and Willow settled herself across from him, unwilling to push her luck and sit any closer. Draco folded his hands and looked at her expectantly, "Right, well, I was thinking we should both brew the potion separately and pick the better one at the end, since it's supposedly so difficult,"

"Fine. Let's just get this done quickly," Draco responded, pulling out his book and flipping to the page with contained the instructions to the Draught of Peace.

"Why?" Willow asked. She wanted to be finished as soon as possible as well, but his eagerness to be rid of her was a bit bruising to her feelings. Draco blinked at her, his jaw clenching slightly.

"I would like to be in bed by half past eight, if that's alright with you," he said, finishing his statement with a cough, and his last few words were etched with noticeable sarcasm. Willow thought that was terribly early, and was itching to ask him what his reason was for such an unreasonable bedtime and how he managed to get his homework done with so few hours in the day, but bit her tongue, thinking better of it. He dropped his gaze from her when she failed to elaborate on her question, his chin slackening in apparent relief.

"We should probably get started then," she said quietly, "I'll go get the supplies,"

"That's probably best, considering you're the expert on the ingredients," he said in the same sarcastic tone, and this time it was Willow's mouth that twitched. She kept her face straight, however, and headed toward the storage cupboard, returning moments later with an assortment of jars hovering in front of her. She flicked her wand and they landed on the table. Draco had already begun to heat his cauldron, and grabbed one of the jars, his eyes glued to the book in front of him. Taking his example, Willow got to work as well; she wasn't quite sure why, but she was determined to make the better potion. From the way his eyes kept flicking towards her cauldron when he thought she wouldn't notice, she reckoned he felt the same way, which only caused her a surge of determination. They worked in silence, though, for once, Willow didn't really feel awkward; the feeling in the air was more _tense._

"It's supposed to be turning turquoise, why isn't it turning turquoise?" she mumbled under her breath, tipping more and more porcupine quills into her concoction, which was still irritatingly orange.

"Do you need help?" Draco asked, his voice dripping with fake sweetness. Willow noticed with frustration that his potion was a beautiful aquamarine color, exactly the shade described in the textbook. She furiously added more quills into her own cauldron, scowling.

"No, I'll be fine, thank you," she said in the same snarky sweet tone, and almost emitted a joyful squeal when the liquid finally turned the correct color. She looked up and noticed Draco was eyeing her, a mingling look of satisfaction and annoyance in his gray eyes. Blushing, she realized she had just gone completely against everything she had ever rallied for; she had denied his help. She told herself it was just because his offer wasn't genuine, but she still felt guilty, both from her betrayal to herself and the realization that she had hypocritically done what she had been irritated with Draco for doing himself. She gazed up at him furtively, but he wasn't looking at her, but digging through the jars on the table with his eyebrows furrowed. He finally glanced in her direction, but it was at the container of unicorn horn that was beside her cauldron and out of his reach. He waved his wand, and the jar went speeding off towards him; Willow laughed out loud in disbelief.

"You realize you could have asked me to pass you the jar, right?" she asked, and he blinked at her before shrugging. She felt a rush of exasperation, "Why didn't you?"

"Too much effort," he shrugged again, crushing his unicorn horn with a pestle and not even bothering to look at her.

"Too much effort?" she repeated, and he glanced up, his eyebrows raised.

"Is there a problem?"

"No, no, not at all,"

"Well, good, then," he said dully, dropping his gaze back to the bowl in front of him. Willow thought for a few moments, smashing her own unicorn horn into a fine powder and sifting it into her cauldron in small increments, waiting for her potion to turn into the dusty shade of pink the textbook said it should be.

"You know, if I ever play Seeker on a Quidditch team, maybe I'll just Summon the Snitch. It'll be less effort," she said finally, struggling to keep her voice straight. She peeked up at Draco, who looked back with an unreadable expression on his face. The corner of his mouth made the same jerky movement, and, to Willow's complete shock, it spread to the rest of his lips and he smiled feebly. This was so unexpected that Willow fumbled with the bowl in her hands and spilled the entire contents of it into her potion, which went right past pink and turned a nasty puce color, "Oh, shit! Bollocks! Damn it!" she cursed, desperately trying to ladle the excess ingredient out of the cauldron, but the metal spoon melted and bent out of shape. With a yelp, she dropped it, nudging the cauldron with her elbow in the process, and the entire thing tipped over, splattering all over the surface of the table. She and Draco both jumped back, panicked expressions on their faces. Draco also looked a bit bewildered, which Willow would've noticed and presumed it was because he was just as surprised by his actions as she was, if she wasn't preoccupied with screaming and hopping away from the potion, which was now dripping off the edge of the table, smoking ominously and narrowly missing the tips of her shoes.

"Right, well, you sure screwed up," Draco said, the smile gone off his face and his eyes wide, but there was lingering amusement still etched into his features, seemingly a bit enhanced due to the current predicament. Aside from the fact that it was possibly life-threatening, it was also a bit comical. He peered at the mixture, which was now also forming large bubbles that popped with a menacing hiss every few seconds. Willow just gaped, speechless both from her mistake and from the smile which, less than an hour previously, had seemed completely impossible. She watched, mouth slightly open, as he looked at his wand and winced; it was lying next to his cauldron, fortunately having escaped the dangerous spilled contents of Willow's. However, the potion was rapidly inching its way towards Draco's end of the table. Draco exhaled slowly, then pushed his sleeves up, tentatively reaching for his wand and grabbing it as quickly as he could, avoiding brushing his fingers against the potion. Seemingly relieved, he hesitated for a moment before waving the wand; his belongings, untouched, lifted off of the table and onto another, safe from harm. He then flicked the wand again, and the potion siphoned off of the table and back into Willow's cauldron; one last swish, and he Vanished the concoction, leaving the table looking as good as new,

"You're lucky you were holding that," he motioned towards Willow's left hand, which she noticed was clutched tightly around her wand , the other still grasping the bowl she had accidentally spilled out of, "But you might need to get a new book," he continued, and almost Willow groaned at the sight of the hole that had been burned out of her textbook where the potion had touched it, "As for the ruined ingredients…we'll just pretend that never happened," he finished, Vanishing the melted jars in the middle of the table as well.

"S-sorry," Willow finally managed to stammer out, still at a loss for words.

"I reckon it was my fault, actually," Draco responded, "Didn't realize a facial expression could have such an impact," he tried to say mundanely, but there was still a hint of uncharacteristic bemusement in his voice. Willow stared at him incredulously; his face was so different than what she was used to. Feeling embarrassed, she dropped her gaze to his exposed forearms. Her eyes widened; a faint outline of the Dark Mark was present on his skin, faded but still noticeable. She wasn't entirely surprised; her friends had told her all about Draco's history. It was still more disconcerting now that she had solid proof, however, and she peered closer, noticing, with a start, something else on his otherwise bare skin. Draco raised his eyebrows, then followed her gaze. Realizing what she was staring at, he frantically dropped his sleeves before glaring at her, all traces of amusement gone from his features.

"Oh, no, I wasn't-" Willow said quickly, trying to explain herself, but he didn't let her finish.

"I think you'd better go, you've wreaked enough havoc for today. I can finish the potion and turn it in on my own," he said coldly, avoiding her gaze.

"But-" she began, but he again cut her off.

"Just go,"

There was a firmness in his voice that was almost frightening, and Willow didn't bother to argue. She quickly grabbed her bag and walked out of the classroom as quickly as she could without breaking into a run.

Being the one to leave Draco behind, instead of the other way around, had previously been fun, but there was nothing fun about this situation at all.

**A/N: I was up until two in the morning last night writing this so I could have time to post before I leave. In case you haven't been reading my previous notes, t****his is unfortunately the last chapter for at least a week, wah. **

**I'll be leaving for vacation first thing tomorrow morning and I don't see the people I'm going with as being particularly happy about me sitting in the hotel room on my laptop, ha. I'll miss you guys! And this story! :(**

**Thanks for reading! Please take the time to review, even if it's just a word or two; every single review means so much to me! :)**


	13. Regret

Willow awoke early the next morning with mingled images of serpentine skulls and hospital wings swarming in her mind, remnants of her disconcerting dreams.

She was aware that she was no longer sleeping, but kept her eyes closed and her face pressed firmly against her pillow, struggling to remember exactly what she had dreamt of. Slowly, it came back to her, and she furrowed her forehead, allowing the pictures to visualize in her thoughts.

She had been walking down the corridor towards the hospital wing to visit Madam Pomfrey, but the door, which usually swung open with ease at her touch, wouldn't budge. She had pushed with all her might, but the only result had been a pair of singed hands, burnt by the red-hot doorknob. For some reason, however, she refused to give up and, after what seemed like hours of pressing with her shoulder, it finally swung open. She had walked in to see only one filled bed; stepping closer, she had calmly noticed that the body slumped against the pillows was her own. Her face was swollen and barely recognizable, but, as she stared, a Dark Mark began to appear on her skin, the black tattoo creating a stark contrast with her pale forehead. A hand had grabbed her wrist, but the dream ended before she could turn to see who it belonged to.

Shuddering and snuggling herself deeper into her bed sheets, Willow attempted to rid her mind of the disturbing image. At first, she felt a bit confused, unsure of the reason for her dream, but a moment of thinking reminded her of the scene in the Potions room with Draco and she stifled a groan as to not wake up the other girls.

She had just finally broken through, had gotten him to _smile_, something she would have never expected to happen, or at least not so soon. But she had only gotten a few moments to blissfully rejoice before she had ruined it with her pestering curiosity. It had been obvious that, if he caught her staring at his forearm, he would automatically assume that she was looking at the image branded into his skin. She would have been lying if she said that she hadn't been taken aback by the Dark Mark at first; it was something that meant he would be labeled as a former Death Eater for the rest of his life. But it was also true that she would have looked away, both in embarrassment and in respect for the one thing she was sure he was most unhappy about in his life, if it hadn't been for what else she had seen. Or thought she had seen.

She was determined to forget about the conclusions she had made; what she had supposedly seen was obviously just her own overactive imagination, a result of her lifelong habit of assuming the worst. She let the presumption drop completely from her mind, with no desire whatsoever to think about it anymore.

Thinking about it would have been difficult even if she believed she was right, because she was too overwhelmed at the guilt she felt as she replayed the image of Draco's face over and over in her mind. It had been even more of an upset to see the antagonism on his features after the amused smile he had worn just moments earlier. She could have gotten used to a smiling Draco; the happy expression made his already handsome face even more pleasant to look at.

Willow blushed unconsciously, now staring up at the ceiling. She had always thought of Draco as good looking; it was impossible not to. Even his biggest enemies couldn't have denied it. Though his features were constantly sallow and his eyes dull, he still possessed a sort of aristocratic beauty that she reckoned would have caught a lot of girls' eyes in the past. But the momentary smile gracing his lips brought a spark of life back into his face and made him appear more attractive than ever. He had always been a regular visitor in Willow's thoughts, but somehow the previous day's events had slightly added to the reasons why.

As the other seventh year girls began to stir feebly in their beds, Willow forced herself up, shuffling to her trunk. She got dressed slowly, not really paying attention to what she was putting on, as her thoughts were still absorbed in her predicament and what she could do, if there was anything, to fix the rift she had inevitably created between her and Draco.

"I'm loving the new look," Hermione stared, sitting up in bed, her mouth curled into an amused smile, and Ginny looked around, her features still drooped with sleep. Her eyes landed on Willow and she guffawed.

"Hm?" Willow replied, distracted.

"Your shirt," Ginny giggled, pointing, and Willow glanced down to see an old, huge t-shirt her mother had bought for her when she was ten. A large grinning kitten stared back up at her, frozen but appearing to be frolicking in a meadow of obnoxiously bright flowers. She groaned, and her friends burst into loud laughter, causing the couple of other girls in the room to grumble into their pillows.

"That's so humiliating," Willow whined, shrugging out of her robes and pulling the hideous shirt off hastily, throwing it into her trunk and rummaging through it for something more acceptable for a seventeen year old girl to wear.

"Why do you even _have _that?" Hermione asked incredulously, wincing as she attempted to comb her unruly hair.

"Er, well, my mom bought it for me. I take it with me to each of my new schools, not to wear, obviously, but just as a reminder of home," Willow mumbled quietly, embarrassed. There was a moment of silence before both girls began to coo, their hands folded under their chins.

"Aw, how cute!" Ginny squealed.

"That's so sweet!" Hermione exclaimed at the same time.

"Shut up," Willow retorted, but she couldn't help but grin at her friends.

If anything, it was nice to be momentarily distracted from the thought of Draco Malfoy, and the guilt that came with it.

* * *

Draco sulked in the back of the Potions classroom, glancing up furtively every time someone walked into the room.

The class was almost full and she still wasn't there.

Hearing, for the umpteenth time, the sound of footsteps coming from the direction of the doorway, he looked around again through hooded eyes. A shock of red hair filled his vision, belonging to the Weasley girl, and he tensed slightly. Sure enough, Willow was right at her side, clutching her books to her chest tightly and not once looking in his direction. His entire body stiffened, and his gaze followed the girl all the way to her desk.

He bitterly remembered how she had recently been the one to walk away from him without a backwards glance, as opposed to the other way around, as it had been when they first met. Just as he was about to drop his gaze in defeat and stare at the desk instead, Willow turned her head slightly, attempting to inconspicuously look at Draco over her shoulder. Their eyes met for a moment; Draco could read guilt and apology on her face, and something else as well, something he didn't recognize. He had no idea what she could see on his, but from the way she frowned slightly and quickly faced forward, he assumed his expression wasn't pleasant. When she looked away, he realized he had been scowling unconsciously.

He didn't mean to look angry, though he was, for reasons that were hard to explain. Willow had managed to make him feel differently than anyone else did. When it was just the two of them, there were numerous instances in which he could almost forget about his usual unhappiness. She made him feel a bit hopeful, which was nice even with the guilt it brought.

He wasn't entirely sure when things had changed. He knew it had started a few days prior, in the library, when she had been so grateful for his agreement to let her help with his essay. He had had a lot of time to think before they had met to make the potion, and somewhere in-between, he had come to the bewildering realization that he_ liked_ the way he felt around her.

She made him feel normal, as strange as it sounded, or at least more than other people did. She asked him questions that didn't have anything to do with his parents or Death Eaters, or how he felt about it all now, which was what Blaise had tried to do in his letters over the summer. He didn't blame his friend for asking, but didn't want to be remembered as just the man who used to work for Voldemort and who lost his parents to a wizard prison; he was still a person with an entire life in front of him. There was more to him.

Still, even Blaise was preferable to others, who avoided speaking to him whatsoever, his sullen face scaring them off. Willow didn't seem to be afraid of him anymore, and she wasn't afraid to be scornful with him either; the time in the library where she had been angry and cold was almost refreshing, as everyone else thought him to be too fragile. Sometimes he wished Blaise would grab him by the shoulders and shake him back and forth, attempting to bring him to his senses, instead of just giving up as he had. He appreciated Willow's way of not treating him tenderly just because of what had happened to him, and he was eternally grateful for the apparent loss of her original pity.

However, the fact that he had begun to like her, even just as an acquaintance (since he wasn't quite sure he could call the two of them friends), made him feel as guilty as ever. He could just imagine what his father would say if Draco told him he had pleasant feelings toward a Gryffindor, especially one who was friends with Potter and his gang. He hadn't heard anything about it, but with his luck, she was probably a Muggle-born. His father would keel over on the spot; just because Lucius had switched sides at the last moment, didn't mean he didn't agree with the core of Voldemort's beliefs.

It was almost unthinkable, but Draco thought he didn't even _care _if she was Muggle-born. Harry Potter had taught him not to judge people too harshly, which would have made Draco laugh himself to tears if he had heard it a few years prior. Harry had saved his life even though they had been mortal enemies for so long, and went on to kill the person that had been making Draco's life hell. Draco had been sure he himself was going to die, and the relief when he didn't, because of someone he had previously hated with every fiber of his being, changed his outlook on life entirely.

He had gone into meeting Willow to finish their project with an open mind. Things had been going well; even the silence had been relatively more comfortable than usual, just because of his change in attitude. And when she made a sarcastic crack, he had decided in that instant to stop fighting the twitching of his lips. The pleased shock in her expression when he had smiled was immensely satisfying.

She had helped him, as she had wanted to do from the beginning.

But then it was ruined.

He had been so stupid to push up his sleeves. His arm hadn't even been on his mind; his thoughts were too preoccupied with the changes taking place. She had seen and her features had been etched with mingling disgust and fear for only a fraction of a second, but Draco had noticed. She didn't even look away, but continued to stare until he pulled his sleeves back down.

It wasn't as if Draco really blamed her; if he was in her shoes, he would have been taken aback as well. He knew she had already been aware, as his participation in the Dark Arts was common knowledge, but seeing the Mark was disconcerting. He could remember when he saw his parents' for the first time; they had chuckled darkly when he had been unable to stop himself from emitting a yelp.

He couldn't quite bear the idea of Willow thinking of him as nothing but a former Death Eater after the progression of their relationship had finally had an effect on him. That was what had made him snap at her. It was also the fact that she had been able to look at him the way she did when she saw the Mark; he didn't want her to look at him that way ever again, and he was scared that she would. It hadn't been fair for him to be mad at her, though; he felt bad the second she had disappeared through the doorway, but the bitterness that had overtaken him won over, leaving him to sulk for the rest of the day. He hadn't even been able to go to sleep as early as he usually did, but tossed and turned for hours instead, feeling both gutted and confused.

He felt remorse during Potions as well, because of the angry look he had given her, and barely focused on his work, looking up at the back of her head every few moments. It was almost comical; the roles had reversed completely. She used to be the one to stare at him, but she didn't turn around again for the remainder of the class.

The bell rang unexpectedly just as Draco returned his potion ingredients to the storage cupboard. He was heading back to his seat to get his bag when Slughorn's voice rang out from the front of the room.

"Draco and Willow, could you stay after class for a moment, please?" he inquired happily, and Draco's heart rate increased slightly. He would get a chance to be alone with Willow again and maybe things would go back to the way they were.

He walked up to Slughorn's desk slowly, moving against the traffic of students heading towards the door. Willow was already there, and she shot him what she thought was a covert glance. She was surprised to see him looking back, and blushed deeply before turning to the Potions professor.

"You wanted to see us, sir?" she said sweetly, and Slughorn beamed at the two of them.

"Yes, yes, I just wanted to congratulate you for being the first pair to turn in your project," he grinned, so pleased that his skin was glowing, though that may have just been the sweat glistening on his pudgy face.

"Oh, thank you," Willow smiled, flushing pink for the second time.

"I already went ahead and graded it," Slughorn continued, then paused, clearly for dramatic effect. Neither Draco nor Willow said anything, but he continued to wait, rocking back and forth on his heels, his large grin not faltering in the slightest.

"And?" Draco urged, then added, "Sir?"

"Oh, er," Slughorn hesitated, looking at Draco in obvious surprise, not having been spoken to directly by the boy all term, but immediately regained his composure and exclaimed brightly, "Full marks!"

"Thanks, Professor!" Willow said just as excitedly.

"Thank you," Draco felt obligated to say as well.

"Of course, of course," Slughorn said in faux modesty, waving a hand as if he had done them a favor, "You deserved it. Exceptional work. Oh, and, Willow, before you go," he added as an afterthought, conjuring a box out of thin air and handing it to her, "Would you mind delivering that to Madam Pomfrey, please?"

"Oh, um, sure, of course," she stammered, looking down at the box in her arms with a confused look on her face. She shifted it slightly, and there was a quiet clinking noise. Slughorn beamed at her once more, before turning and shuffling away.

Draco and Willow again looked at each other at the same moment. He hesitated, then smiled softly. She almost dropped the box, gaping at him, but after a moment, the corners of her lips turned up as well.

"Listen…" Draco began, but stopped at the look on her face. She seemed to realize where they were, and, with a panicked expression, glanced towards the door. He looked as well, and noticed with a scowl that Ginny Weasley was standing there and waiting. She was leaning against the doorframe and examining her nails, and Willow seemed to relax when she realized her friend wasn't watching.

"I have to go," Willow whispered, "See you around, Draco,"

With that, she scampered towards the door where Ginny was now looking at her expectantly, the box rattling as she went.

Draco stood there, quite unsure what to think or do, and didn't move until the clinking noise faded and disappeared entirely.

**A/N: Hello! I'm still on vacation, but I've been spending every spare moment writing. I just can't stay away, hahah!**

**I am currently sitting by myself in the hotel breakfast room, because it's the only spot in the entire hotel that lets me connect to WiFi. It's slightly awkward but I just _had _to post this.**

**Thanks so much for reading, please please please review! :)**


	14. Secrets

Willow and Ginny bounded up the steps from the dungeons, Ginny still eyeing the box in Willow's hands curiously.

"So you have no guesses as to what's in that?" she asked, and Willow shrugged in response.

"I reckon they're just some sort of Healing potion,"

"Knowing you, you're _dying_ of curiosity," Ginny smirked, and Willow stuck her tongue out at her.

"I'll have you know that I am not," she retorted, but she was lying. Ginny knew her too well already; Willow was itching to open the cardboard flaps and check out the contents of the box for herself, but she was afraid of Madam Pomfrey's reaction if she realized Willow had been snooping. Ginny grinned at her, disbelieving, but didn't argue.

"Well, I'll come to the hospital wing with you if you want," she offered.

"Sure, thanks," Willow forced herself to smile appreciatively, though she would have preferred to go alone. She wanted time to think, as Draco had managed to confuse her more than ever, something she had thought wouldn't be possible.

Even though she had agreed to the company, Willow still felt her mind drift off as Ginny rambled in her ear; she made occasional sounds of assent so Ginny wouldn't notice that she wasn't listening.

The only thing she could possibly think about was Draco, and how much he had changed practically overnight. For once, she had an insight on how baffling her constantly shifting emotions must seem to others; Draco had glared at her in the beginning of the class, but, at the end, had smiled at her so brightly it was as if they were old friends. She had no idea what to think, but that smile was so sweet and so genuinethat she wasn't able to stop herself from smiling back for a moment, before she realized Ginny was there.

She had promised Ginny, and all their other friends, that she would forget about him. She didn't feel as if they would believe that she had kept her word if Ginny went rushing to them with news that Willow and Draco were _smiling _at each other. Besides, they claimed that they thought Draco was alright, but Willow could tell they still harvested bitter feelings; most of them were just better at hiding it than Neville was. She thought sadly about what Neville would think if he found out she was actually developing feelings for the boy that had caused him so much strife.

_I'm __not__ developing feelings_, she thought to herself, but the voice in the back of her head ridiculed her attempt to convince herself that she didn't think of Draco in anything but a friendly way. His smiles had added character to his already handsome posterior, and Willow had always had a weakness for light eyes. She had lusted after Seth's pale blue ones for months in Egypt, and Emile had captured her attention in Canada with his, which were a fascinating light green. Neither of them had eyes as interesting as Draco's, however; his seemed almost silver when he smiled, a nice contrast with the dull gray they had been originally.

The physical attraction had been there since the beginning, even if Willow hadn't wanted to admit it to herself. The emotional attraction, however, was a bit more complicated, as she still felt slightly bitter about Draco's previous actions. It didn't take a genius to understand the connection now that his attitude was noticeably more positive, though; as Draco's emotions developed, so did Willow's feelings toward him. The relationship was practically linear. The first time he had smiled, she hadn't been able to stop fantasizing about the upturning of lips all night, though she had tried to shift her mind to other, less bewildering, things. Now there had been a second smile, and Willow realized that, when she thought about it, her heart pounded relatively faster than normal.

The recent Draco was so much different, and so much more preferable, than the Draco she had met originally. She had the feeling she was finally starting to see the _real _Draco Malfoy and the depth he was hiding under his sullen appearance; she was sure he had been enjoyable to his friends in earlier years, if not to the Gryffindors. There was also the fact that he almost seemed to _like _her, which was difficult to imagine considering how certain she had been that the only thing he felt for her was strong dislike.

Willow knew what she had told her friends she would do, but, for once, she didn't _want _to forget about Draco.

She shot a sideways glance at Ginny, who was still talking animatedly, and felt a pang of guilt in her stomach. Ginny looked back at her.

"What do you think about that?" she asked, taking Willow by surprise.

"Oh, er, yes, definitely," Willow stuttered, praying that her response made sense.

"Right, right," Ginny nodded, and Willow relaxed before Ginny continued, "So you reckon releasing Mandrakes into the boys' dormitory is a good idea,"

"Wait, what? No, I must have misunderstood the question," Willow said quickly, but Ginny laughed.

"Save it, I know you weren't listening. I went on about my plans to move to Siberia and start my own line of fur dress robes for a good two minutes and you didn't even bat an eyelash," she smiled.

"I'm sorry," Willow winced, but Ginny waved her hand.

"It's alright. What's on your mind?" she asked, peering at Willow closely as if she could interpret her thoughts just by staring; Willow wouldn't have been surprised in the least bit if she actually could.

"Nothing, I'm fine," Willow answered unconvincingly, not looking at her, right as the door to the Hospital Wing came into view, "Oh, look, we're here," she said, happy for the distraction.

They walked the few steps remaining in silence and Willow felt slightly nervous as she reached for the doorknob, a lasting effect of the previous night's nightmare. She opened the door with no trouble at all, relieved that it hadn't burned her hands like it had in her dream, though she knew the trepidation was ridiculous. Madam Pomfrey came rushing out of her office, looking tense, at the sound of the door slamming shut behind the two girls, but her shoulders relaxed significantly when her eyes fell on Willow.

"Hello, Willow, you haven't been around in a while," she said happily, and, noticing Ginny behind her, said kindly, "And good afternoon to you, Miss Weasley,"

"Good afternoon," Ginny smiled sweetly, standing awkwardly by the door.

"I'm assuming you're not here to stay," Madam Pomfrey said, directing her attention back towards Willow.

"No, I'm not, unfortunately," Willow replied apologetically, and held the box out towards the nurse, "Professor Slughorn asked me to deliver this,"

"Oh! Thank you," Madam Pomfrey exclaimed, taking the box. Willow relaxed, the muscles in her arms grateful to be released from the heavy burden. Her urges were relieved as well; there was no longer any chance of her looking through the contents of the box without permission. There was, however, nothing to stop her from _requesting _permission, and she cleared her throat.

"Er, Madam Pomfrey? What's in the box?" she asked, and after catching Ginny's expression of mingling amusement and exasperation, added, "If you wouldn't mind telling me, of course,"

"Now, child, you and I both know I've taken to you quite well," Madam Pomfrey responded, her face stern but for a slight twinkle in her eye, "However, the information you are requesting is between the headmaster, Professor Slughorn, and I,"

"Of course," Willow replied, slightly disappointed, "I understand,"

"Oh, don't worry, dear, it shouldn't affect you," Madam Pomfrey said, noticing the worried expression on Willow's face. She smiled reassuringly and Vanished the box before clapping her hands together, "Now shoo if you're not planning on staying. You're blocking the doorway,"

Willow turned to leave just as a small tear-stained girl covered in hives walked in, her chin wobbling. Ginny barely managed to suppress a yelp and hopped backwards.

"I had a bit of an accident in Herbology," the girl hiccupped, and Madam Pomfrey's attention was completely diverted; she led the girl to an empty bed with a hand on her shaking shoulder.

"You heard what Madam Pomfrey said, let's go. Wouldn't want to block the doorway," Ginny said, her voice pleading, still pressing her back against the wall. Willow wordlessly followed her into the corridor, where Ginny visibly relaxed, "Sorry I was so keen to leave, but the hospital wing gives me the creeps. I've spent enough time in there visiting other people that I could tell you the names of all the potions in the cupboard on the wall," she said sadly.

"Oh, it's alright," Willow smiled reassuringly, but her mind was still elsewhere. Miraculously, it was on the box she had handed over to Madam Pomfrey, and not Draco, though he was still lurking in the back corner of her brain and peeking out every few moments.

"I know I made fun of you for being curious, but now I am as well," Ginny said, "Did you notice she said that it 'shouldn't' affect you, and not 'wouldn't'?" she asked.

"Yes, that was strange," Willow nodded, a multitude of possibilities running through her mind.

"You know what it might be?" Ginny said excitedly after a moment of thinking, and Willow looked at her curiously, "What if Madam Pomfrey and Professor Slughorn are _involved_?" Willow stared at her for a moment before laughing loudly at the idea of the nurse and the Potions teacher in a romantic relationship.

"That hardly seems likely," she giggled, but Ginny shook her head vigorously.

"No, listen, the note could have been a love letter, and the box could have been some sort of gift. It would explain why neither told you exactly what you're delivering. They want to keep it a secret," she rambled, gaining enthusiasm as she spoke.

"Then why would Madam Pomfrey say it was between the two of them _and _the headmaster?" Willow pointed out.

"Oh," Ginny's excitement deflated for a second, but she then perked up again, "She could have just been saying that so you wouldn't figure out what was actually going on,"

"I think you're overthinking things," Willow laughed again at the expression on Ginny's face, "Since when are you such a romantic, anyway?"

"I am _not _a romantic," Ginny scoffed, and Willow tilted her head skeptically. Ginny kept her jaw clenched defiantly for a moment, but sighed, "Alright, fine, maybe I've softened a bit lately. It's Harry's fault. He's just so…" she trailed off, a dreamy look on her face.

"Oh, Ginny's in _love_," Willow teased, and Ginny swatted her on the arm, laughing, before glancing at the watch on her wrist.

"Speaking of Harry, I told him we could spend our free period together. I'm already a bit late, I should get going," she said, "Sorry," she continued, looking up at Willow.

"It's alright, go and have fun with your boyfriend," Willow grinned and raised an eyebrow, "Just not _too _much fun,"

"Shut _up_," Ginny laughed, "Sure you'll be able to survive without me as your tour guide?"

"I don't get lost anymore," Willow retorted.

"Then why were you late to Transfiguration?" Ginny argued back, and Willow opened and closed her mouth, trying to come up with a reasonable excuse; she had, truthfully, turned one staircase too early and ended up barely making it to class on time. It was an honest mistake; the school had far more sets of stairs than necessary. Ginny laughed again, "I thought so,"

"I can manage, just go,"

"If you insist. See you later,"

With that, Ginny turned on her heel and walked in the opposite direction, disappearing through a door disguised as a wall. Willow, who had nothing to do except homework she wasn't in the mood for, continued on her own, wandering aimlessly.

She tried to clear her mind; it was difficult to simultaneously think about her confusing feelings toward Draco and wonder about what Madam Pomfrey was hiding. Her thoughts drifted from the pleasurable image of Draco's smiling face to the entirely disturbing idea of Madam Pomfrey and Professor Slughorn lip-locked; the latter made her feel slightly queasy, though she didn't believe it was even a possibility.

She walked down a deserted hallway illuminated by sunlight drifting in through open windows. The warmth momentarily relieved her of all her worries, and she closed her eyes, leaning on a windowsill and wishing she was the type of person who just didn't care. _Caring _was what made everything so difficult.

Someone somewhere to her right side coughed, and, surprised, she narrowly avoided toppling through the window. Shooting upwards and regaining her balance, she looked around wildly for the person that had made the noise. Finally, her eyes landed on Draco Malfoy, who was curled up with a book in a narrow seat squeezed between two walls. She had walked right past him without even noticing, as the seat jutted out from the corridor and was slightly hidden from the view of passerby; it was the perfect reading nook for anyone who wanted to be left alone, so it fit Draco perfectly. He was blinking slowly up at her, and Willow gaped for a few moments before saying anything.

"Draco," she said stupidly, as she was at a sudden loss for words. She noticed with disappointment that his eyes lacked a silvery gleam; they were as gray as the concrete wall behind his head.

"Are you following me now?" he asked, and Willow would have thought he was joking if it wasn't for the hint of hostility in his voice.

"What? No, I was just walking," she responded.

"By yourself?" he asked, raising an eyebrow, "I would have thought you'd be with the rest of your lot, or at least with the Weasley girl,"

"I like my alone time as much as you do, thank you," Willow retorted, her voice warbling slightly with hurt at the antagonism in his tone. It had been less than an hour ago when he had smiled at her in the Potions room; what had happened?

"Of course," Draco nodded, "That explains why you're talking to me,"

"What are you on about?" Willow asked incredulously.

"If one of your friends was here, you'd just walk away, wouldn't you?" he accused, and Willow realized with a start that his voice betrayed the same hurt hers had.

"Oh," she said softly, "Oh. I'm sorry, Draco. I didn't realize I would hurt your feelings. I didn't mean to, I swear,"

"You didn't 'hurt my feelings'. I'm not soft," Draco scoffed, but his refusal to look her in the eye said otherwise.

"I didn't think you'd care," she said, and it was true; there had been so many times where he had been the one to walk away and leave her alone that she didn't consider the possibility that she could offend him by doing the same. Besides, she had done so before without any lasting consequences.

"I don't,"

"Then why did you even bring it up?" Willow asked, and Draco fell silent, unable to come up with a good response. Willow stared at him, a bit exasperated, "I can't win with you, can I?"

"Sorry?" Draco asked, finally looking up.

"First you were mad at me for caring too much about your feelings. Now you're mad that I didn't care enough. I don't know what to do," Willow huffed, and Draco scowled slightly.

"Damn," he whispered to himself, and Willow continued to stare, waiting for elaboration. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, "It's just…I'm turning into _you, _aren't I?"

"Er, what?" Willow asked, her level of confusion rising considerably.

"You're mad," Draco said, and Willow sniffed, offended, "The way you act is different every day. One day you're bright and bubbly and the next you're angry and cold. It's extremely irritating, but now I'm doing it as well. Your crazy is rubbing off on me," he exclaimed, his tone accusatory.

"Or maybe we're just more alike than we thought," Willow replied quietly, after a moment's silence. A hint of silver was beginning to appear in Draco's eyes, and he smiled weakly at her; she felt suddenly dizzy.

"Maybe. I reckon that's why I can hate you one moment and like you the next,"

"You actually _like _me?" Willow squeaked. She had, of course, noticed herself that he seemed to be warming to her, but it was different when he said it himself. She wondered briefly exactly what she had done to cause the change of heart, but reprimanded herself for questioning a good thing.

"Yeah, yeah, you're alright. You've managed to amuse me more than anyone else has since..._things _happened, so that has to account for something," he teased, still smiling, but, moments later, he was scowling, and Willow frowned as well, bewildered by the sudden shift of expressions, "But we can't be friends if you're going to pretend you don't know me when other people are around. I have no interest in keeping any secrets," he said firmly, and Willow detected a hint of pride in the way his chin jutted upward. She presumed that the idea of her wanting to hide their friendship was offensive to him; Neville had mentioned that he was a bit _confident _in the days before the beginning of the war, though he had used a slightly more negative word.

"I…" Willow began, but faltered, unsure what to say. The idea of being friends with Draco made her heart flutter in her chest, especially as it was something she never could have imagined in her wildest dreams, but her stomach dropped suddenly at the thought of her other friends. She didn't want Draco to end up being her _only _friend; she was scared of what the Gryffindors would think, and, though she knew it was silly, she couldn't help but think they wouldn't want anything to do with her if she was seen with their prior enemy. The lack of confidence in how much they actually liked her was due to the numerous amount of times she had been ditched by other friends; she couldn't help it. Unable to bring herself to say no to the look on Draco's face, however, she attempted to convince herself that her friends would understand, "No secrets," she said finally, her voice slightly too high-pitched, but Draco didn't seem to notice.

To her surprise, he jumped nimbly up from his seat and stood mere centimeters away from her, surveying her face with an unreadable look in his eyes.

"Thanks," he said suddenly, his voice a bit strained; considering what she knew about him, Draco most likely hadn't expressed gratitude for others very often in his life. It seemed to be a relatively new concept to him, which only made Willow appreciate the gesture more. She could tell he was thanking her for more than just the current conversation.

"For what, exactly?" she said quietly, her curiosity getting the better of her, as always.

"You _did _win," he chuckled darkly, "You helped me, damn it, just like you wanted all along,"

Willow beamed, speechless, and felt a simultaneous rush of affection and sense of accomplishment; any other words couldn't have sounded any sweeter.

**A/N: I'm finally back home! As far as I know I won't be going away for any extended periods of time anytime soon, so that's good.**

**Yay for relationship development!**

**Thanks for the reviews and all the new followers! I love you all! :)**


	15. Ruins

Draco leaned against a tree in one of the school's many courtyards, nuzzling his chin into his scarf for warmth and continuously glancing at the watch on his shivering wrist.

He sighed, looking around, but he and the sparrow flittering around the birdbath in the corner were still the only living beings within seeing distance. It was already ten minutes past the time Willow had told him to meet her; he would have been suspicious of the meeting spot's isolation, but it was admittedly a convenient spot, considering it was the same courtyard they had conversed near the day before.

He marveled briefly at the weather's bipolarity. Only twenty-four hours earlier, he had been reading in his usual nook to escape the crowded common room, and the sun streaming through the windows had been warm and welcoming. Now, there was no sign whatsoever of the sun behind the ominously gray clouds, and the chilly air warned of the quickly approaching winter.

Fidgeting wasn't something Draco did often, but, as he impatiently waited to be joined by his tardy company, he found himself unable to stand still. He scuffed the dirt at his feet, coughed into his hands, grateful for the warmth his breath provided, and scratched absent-mindedly at his forearm; his skin, so pale it was practically translucent, had always been sensitive, and the cool, dry air had given him an unsightly rash that he hastily covered up.

He was just in the middle of picking at a loose thread in the cuff of his robes when Willow rushed in, looking frantic. She bounded over to him, an apologetic look on her face. Draco was determined to be angry with her, but she looked so panicked and windswept that he couldn't help but laugh.

"What's so funny?" she asked, stopping short.

"You look ridiculous," he chuckled, and she awkwardly patted down her hair.

"I was running," she explained, attempting to smooth out the creases in her robes.

"Wouldn't want to be late, would you?" Draco said sarcastically, and the same remorseful look came flooding back.

"I'm sorry, Ginny just wouldn't stop _talking_ and I tried to tell her I had to go and then she kept trying to question me and…" she trailed off at the sudden frown on Draco's face.

"Question you?" he repeated, and she opened and closed her mouth a few times before opting to stay silent, "So your other friends don't know where you are. Or who you're with, I should say," he said, his tone accusatory.

"I'll tell them, I promise!" she cried, "I just…it's complicated," she mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

"I think you should give them more credit," Draco said quietly, and she looked up, confused.

"Why's that?"

"You're afraid they'll be angry with you,"

"Well, yes, but-" she began, but Draco cut her off.

"Look, I know they'll never like me. But that doesn't mean they won't like you just because you're…associated with me,"

"You don't know the whole story,"

"Then tell me the whole story," he urged, and she hesitated, looking embarrassed.

"I'd rather not," she said, and Draco felt himself frown.

"I told you I'm not interested in keeping secrets. We might as well forget any of this ever happened," he said bitterly, and turned to leave, but was stopped when her fingers wrapped around his wrist. She quickly dropped her hand when he looked around at her, surprised.

"Don't go. I'll tell them. I will," she said, and there was a slight pleading in her voice. Draco felt bad as he looked into her eyes, which were wide and puppy-like. He didn't say anything, but turned back to her, and her shoulders relaxed visibly. When she spoke again, her voice was noticeably brighter, "Shall we sit?"

"I'd rather not," he said, mimicking her earlier statement, and she blinked at him silently, "It's a bit cold,"

"Right," she nodded, "What's your idea, then?"

"Let's just…" Draco hesitated, his mind racing with possibilities before he was hit with sudden inspiration, "Walk. And talk,"

"W-walk where?" Willow stuttered, and, as Draco expected, a hint of panic flickered across her face.

"Oh, you know, just...around," he said casually, and she nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Draco smiled sweetly at her, and she forcefully smiled back.

"Okay," she said through slightly clenched teeth, and Draco's grin widened, though his was forced as well.

"Fantastic," he said as he turned to leave once again, and had the sudden urge to hold out his arm for her to hold onto. His elbow twitched, but he suppressed the strange impulse and held his arm tightly by his side.

"Are you alright?" she asked, and stared at his forearm, having clearly noticed the jerky movement. Her eyes were trained at the exact spot that his Dark Mark was hidden by the sleeve of his robe, and he angrily moved his arm again, causing her to start and stare up at him instead, looking a bit abashed.

"Perfectly dandy," he said, and she blinked at the obvious sarcasm, but chose to ignore it. There was a moment of awkward silence, the only sound being their shoes shuffling along the empty corridor.

"Shitty weather today, isn't it?" she said finally, her voice strained. Draco couldn't help it; he laughed out loud again.

"Are we really going to talk about the weather?" he asked incredulously, and she laughed as well.

"I didn't know what else to say," she admitted, "This is strange,"

"I can definitely agree with you on that," Draco smiled; he noticed that her mouth opened slightly each time his lips turned upward, and he looked at her curiously, "You still look surprised every time I smile,"

"I am," she mumbled, her cheeks reddening, "I was used to you being-" she cut off suddenly, seemingly searching for the right word to use.

"You don't have to finish that," Draco said quietly, and she looked momentarily relieved.

"I like you better this way, though," she said quickly, and Draco chuckled softly.

"Yeah, me too,"

They now were in a more populated area of the castle, and Willow looked nervous each time someone walked past them. Admittedly, half of the passerby eyed the unlikely pair with surprise and a bit of suspicion, but that didn't bother Draco. The anxious expression on Willow's face, however, caused his stomach to drop a few centimeters each time.

"Are you ever going to tell me why you were the way you were?" Willow said suddenly after another moment of silence, and Draco could tell it had taken her a lot of courage to ask by the way she looked at him, nervously anticipating a response.

"I don't know," Draco said honestly, and she looked deflated, "It's just difficult," he added, quieter, and she nodded.

"Don't get angry with me for asking but…is it about your parents?" she asked, and Draco felt his heart sink at the mention of his family. His throat burned suddenly; he hesitated, but nodded.

"Sometimes I just think-" he began, but was interrupted when Willow grabbed him roughly by the arm and unexpectedly dragged him through a doorway. She removed her hand as soon as they were in a different corridor, and Draco rubbed his arm and winced, "That hurt, what'd you do that for?" he complained.

"Change of scenery," she said with false cheer, and Draco furrowed his eyebrows.

"Are you sure? Because it seemed-"

"You were telling me about your parents," she chirped pointedly, cutting him off, and Draco scowled.

"No, actually, I don't think I was," he said angrily, and felt disappointed that the suspicions he had felt when he made the suggestion to roam the school seemed to be right.

"Oh," Willow said quietly, and the guilty look on her face accounted for her lack of argument.

"I'm tired," Draco announced, feigning a yawn, "I think we should call it a night,"

"It's only seven," Willow protested.

"I have homework I want to finish before I go to bed," Draco lied; all his homework was lying in his bag, completed early in anticipation of the night's meeting. He had been annoyingly excited to spend time with Willow, something he would have never expected based on the relationship they shared when they first met. The evening was not going at all how he expected, and the animation he had been feeling was punctured. He realized that he actually was tired, and he suddenly wished he was in bed, alone.

"Just stay a few more minutes," Willow pressed, and Draco paused. His mind urged him to leave, but something in her voice froze him in place, unable to move. His composure wavered, and he sighed, deciding to give her the benefit of the doubt.

_Maybe she really did want a change of scenery, _he thought to himself, but the more sensible voice in the back of his head told him he was putting too much trust in Willow.

He chose to ignore the voice; the idea of going back to the way he had been before he and Willow had met made his stomach hurt. The distraction from the grief was necessary; he felt as if he might actually die without it. As embarrassing as it was to admit it to himself, her friendship filled a hole in his heart that had been growing steadily since his parents were taken away from him.

It was all so _cliché_; Draco felt ashamed of himself as he trudged alongside Willow down several hallways and up random flights of stair; she was attempting to speak to him animatedly. He realized with a start that she had been talking for a while, though her words hadn't managed to penetrate his thoughts and he had absolutely no clue what the one-sided conversation was about.

"Willow," he interrupted, and she stopped mid-sentence to look at him.

"Yes?" she asked, staring at him with concern.

"I haven't been listening to a word you've been saying," he admitted, and she looked slightly offended.

"Oh," she said quietly, pouting at the floor.

"It's not your fault," he said quickly; he found that each time he made her frown, a pang of guilt pained him, "I just got distracted,"

"Oh," she said again, noticeably happier, "By what?"

"I was just thinking," he said, frustratingly embarrassed.

"Thinking about what?" she pressed, and he momentarily felt the same annoyance he used to feel whenever she pestered him with questions.

"Just about you, I guess," he muttered, and her eyes widened. His mirrored hers as he realized what he said, "Oh, Merlin, I mean, about us," he said quickly, and winced, comprehending the fact that he had only made the situation worse.

"Um, right, well," Willow stammered, clearly at a loss for words, and Draco cursed himself.

"I meant about us being friends, and, you know, how you helped me and everything and just how…" he attempted to explain himself, but trailed off at the suddenly amused look on her face. If he was the type of person to blush, his cheeks would have been bright red, "I'm rambling,"

"You are," she laughed, "But it's alright," she beamed, her expression curiously exuberant. She took a large step to her left, so that they were suddenly much closer together, and Draco, not wanting to offend her, didn't move away, though doing so would usually have been his immediate reaction.

He had seen the same look on her face on other girls' faces in the past, though it had been a while since the last time. He smiled to himself, entertained, surprised, and, interestingly, a bit pleased. His looks had begun to suffer as early as his sixth year as a result of his unhappiness; his previously platinum blonde hair had dulled, as had his silver eyes. They had turned a blunt gray, though he had noticed that, recently, the silver was beginning to reappear. He hadn't thought anyone could have found him attractive any longer, but he was clearly mistaken.

Willow Prim _liked _him.

_No wonder she was so eager to be my friend_, he thought, and smirked, shooting a sideways glance at her. They were again walking in silence, but there was a satisfied smile on her lips. She caught him looking and smiled shyly; he quickly looked away, not wanting her to get the wrong idea.

He didn't reciprocate her feelings; no, the idea was ludicrous. He had just gotten himself to open up to her enough to consider her more than just an acquaintance; the concept of having a girlfriend seemed far-fetched. He glanced at her once more; she _was _pretty, with her large eyes and long, dark hair. And there had to be something particularly appealing about her if he _wanted_ to spend time with her alone; it was more than he could say about anybody else. There was also the fact that she seemed to genuinely care about him, which was, of course, an important characteristic.

Draco again eyed her curiously, noticing just how long her eyelashes were, and how they brushed against her bronzed skin when she blinked. He was staring at her upturned lips when she spoke suddenly; he jumped, snapping out of his reverie and feeling completely bewildered.

"I want to be a Healer," she said, and it was so out of the blue that Draco blinked at her a few times before replying, feeling even more bewildered than before.

"Sorry?" he asked, and she smiled softly.

"I want to be a Healer when we're done with this," she repeated, waving her hands to signify that she meant being in school.

"That's great, but why did you feel the need to tell me this right now?" Draco asked, puzzled.

"I thought it might help explain why I wanted to help you,"

"I'm still not following,"

"I want to help people. That's my _thing_," she explained.

"Your thing?" Draco repeated, feeling more and more confused by the second.

"You know what I mean. Other peoples' thing might be art or…or gardening…or something," she said, sounding slightly exasperated, "Mine is helping people,"

"Gardening?" Draco smirked.

"Shut up, that's not the point," Willow laughed, "What I mean is, helping and Healing and all that is what makes me happier than anything else. When I first saw you and how you looked, it was like…my personal mission or something to make you feel better," she said, blushing.

"That's…interesting," Draco said, unsure what else to say. Her confession was slightly heartwarming, but, on the other hand, it was also a bit strange. He couldn't imagine looking at a stranger and automatically deciding that it was his duty to help that person; it seemed like an unusual trait to have, but, then again, he had never been an exceptionally sympathetic person.

"Personal mission might not be the best way to describe it," she laughed again, "You probably think I'm some sort of creep,"

"It's crossed my mind," Draco admitted, and she smiled sadly.

"I'm not crazy, I swear. I just can't stand seeing other people in pain," she said, quieter than ever, and Draco stared.

"What happens when you're the one in pain?" he responded, just as quietly, and she looked up, surprised, before biting her lip and staring at the ground again.

"Then it's my problem to deal with," she shrugged.

"That's not fair," Draco pointed out, and she shook her head.

"It's the way it's always been,"

"Are you in pain now?" Draco asked, feeling as if it was the right thing to ask, though he wasn't sure what the correct course of action would be if she said yes.

"No," she said firmly, "Not when there are people who care about me as much as I care about them,"

Draco smiled reassuringly at her, realizing for the first time that he might not have been the only one helped by the formation of their friendship. The crazy urge he had felt to hold his arm out for her happened again, except, this time, it was to grab her hand. Feeling as if he would give her false hope, he refrained.

She, being annoyingly perceptive, noticed the involuntarily twitch yet again, and looked up at him. There was a tenderness in her expression that made him feel uncomfortable, but also made him want to envelope her in a hug. He shook the idea out of his head, the bewilderment settling back in; he had never been the type to _hug. _

He was again distracted from his thoughts by the sound of an opening door and a multitude of familiar voices. Looking up, he saw a portrait surrounded by scarlet and gold drapery at the end of the corridor; he hadn't realized they had wandered all the way over to the Gryffindor tower. He presumed Willow hadn't, either, for she yelped and grabbed him by the hand, though with much more force than he planned on using when he considered doing the same.

She pulled open a door to her right and yanked him through it; they were in an empty, dimly lit classroom. She leaned against the door frame, still holding on to his hand.

"They're _everywhere_," Willow whispered angrily to herself, as if she had forgotten Draco was even there.

Draco roughly pulled himself out of her grip; she gaped at him, hurt, but he didn't feel any remorse. His suspicions had been accurate, after all, just as he had thought all along. His insides squirmed with disappointment and anger.

"You're hiding me from them," he seethed; if Willow hadn't noticed what was happening, Potter and the rest of his group would have walked straight into them.

"I wasn't thinking, I just-"

"Save it. You said you'd tell them. Hiding me forever won't make that any easier," he interrupted her, his jaw clenched.

"You don't understand. I promised them I would forget about you," she pled, and Draco's anger was momentarily replaced by the pain her words caused.

"Why?" he said quietly.

"They said they were looking out for me. That you didn't care about me and that I was just hurting myself by caring about you. And that I should focus on them, because they _do _care about me. I didn't want to ruin the first real friendships I've had in years,"

"So it's not because they don't like me?" Draco asked, surprised.

"No," she shook her head, but looked down at the floor guiltily.

"So if they knew what was really happening, they would understand," Draco said dully, and she continued to stare at the floor.

"Yes, I suppose they would,"

"So why are you still intent on keeping this a secret?"

"I don't think they'll believe me if I try to tell them you actually like me," she mumbled.

"They won't believe it, or you don't?" Draco asked after a moment of silence, and she looked up, staring at him wide-eyed.

"I do, Draco, I wouldn't be with you right now if I didn't, believe me," she begged.

"Are you sure you're not just with me because I'm your personal mission?" Draco said coldly, and her eyes filled with tears.

"No! I mean yes, I'm sure," she exclaimed, her lower lip wobbling. Draco still felt no guilt; the only thing swimming through his mind was how disappointed he was. This time, he not only wished he was in bed, he wished he had never come in the first place; better yet, he wished the conversation the day before had never happened.

"So if I asked you to leave this room, walk up to your friends and tell them right now, you'd do it?" he asked; her momentary hesitation was the only answer he needed. He shook his head, "Please move, I'd like to go back to my common room now," he said, strangely calm, and she shook her head, staying firmly pressed against the door.

"No, don't go, I'm sorry," she begged, and Draco pulled his wand out of his pocket. Her eyes widened.

"Don't make me hex you, Willow," he said, though he knew he was being ridiculous. His head was pounding with sudden exhaustion, clouding his judgment. Shivering slightly, she stepped away from the door, shaking her head.

"When I said I didn't want to ruin the first real friendships I've had in years, that included ours, Draco," she said quietly from behind his back as he pushed past her and opened the door.

"I'm telling you for the third time that I don't want any secrets. We're not friends," he said, not turning around, and felt a stab of pain as he stepped through the door frame.

"Stop, Draco, you didn't give me enough time. You're overreacting,"

"I'm not the one overreacting," he laughed darkly, still facing the corridor, "I don't need this," he lied.

"But I do,"

Draco paused and gulped down the sudden itch in his throat.

"Find yourself a new mission," he said quietly and nastily, and shut the door behind him before she had a chance to respond.

**A/N: This was painful to write. I'm like, super emotionally attached to these characters, ha.**

**Thank you, as always, to everyone who took the time to review. I'm glad you guys were glad that Willow and Draco were friends, though that clearly didn't last very long. Sorry! :'(**

**Things will get better, I promise.**

**Thanks for reading! Please review! :)**


	16. Know

Willow's emotions were in even more of a whirlwind than usual during the week following the failed, to say the least, meeting with Draco.

The first few days were filled with many tear-stained pillowcases and weepy visits to the restroom at unnecessary times, just to stare at the mirror dramatically and wish things had gone differently. She blamed herself completely for ruining the relationship almost as soon as it was formed; the guilt filled her stomach to the brim, enough to not leave any room for anything else.

She picked at all her meals, feeling nauseous from the smallest bites, especially since she couldn't stop herself from stealing glances at the Slytherin table. A tiny part of her hoped she would look up to see Draco looking over at her, as well, but each time she was bitterly disappointed; he never once lifted his head. The fact that he also seemed to have a sudden unwillingness to eat only made her feel worse. More than once, she left a full plate of food behind when leaving the Great Hall.

She wondered what was wrong with her. No matter how hard she tried, she never failed to ruin practically every friendship she managed to form. She considered blaming genetics, but her parents never seemed to have a problem with making, or keeping, friends; they were, in fact, relatively popular. There were always new guests over for dinner within days of moving to a new location, and the same guests, no matter how much time had passed, sent Christmas letters every year.

It was sour irony that the reason she had lost one friend was because she was trying not to lose others. She cursed the world for not letting her have both Draco and the Gryffindors; why did she have to pick one or the other?

True, Ginny and the rest were kinder to her the majority of the time, but there was something in Draco's friendship that she craved and that was lacking from the others. It took her a bit of pondering to place it, but she realized within time that it was how _real _he was. The Gryffindors were friendly, sure, but they always seemed to be holding back with her; she reckoned it was the fact that the relationships amongst them were already so developed, that it was difficult for them to fit her in entirely.

She wasn't upset with them for it, but it was still dissatisfying to feel so _needy. _Draco seemed to need her as much as she needed him, or so she had thought before the situation went awry, and that was a good feeling. The codependency, she felt, made for a stronger bond. She anguished to have the boy that had told her she had helped him back; the way her heart had soared when he had uttered those words was a feeling she could only dream of having again.

But, of course, right as he opened up to her, she let him down. Finally, for the first time since his parents had been taken away from him, someone wanted him in their life and managed to keep him there without suffocating him with pity. She could only imagine how disappointed he had been when that person couldn't even admit to the rest of the world that she was his friend; what was the point of being wanted if no one could know?

Her sadness eventually dissolved into anger; her remorse disappeared and was replaced with the feeling that she had done no wrong, or at least not as much wrong as Draco had.

He expected her to go running to the Gryffindors and cheerily exclaim that she and he were friends within moments. There was no sympathy in his immediate dissatisfaction when she hadn't done exactly that; the thought of giving her time hadn't even seemed to cross his mind. Instead of cursing the world for making her choose, she cursed him instead.

She had told him that she was happy because she had people who cared about her as much as she cared about them, yet he disregarded the confession completely and dropped her the second something wasn't to his liking. She seethed at the thought of how _selfish_ he had been. He didn't seem to care that she feared losing her friends; the boy didn't seem to possess any compassion whatsoever.

And who did he think he was, leading her on? He had told her he was thinking about her and about them; the thought that there was even a 'them' in the plural sense had made her positively beam while it lasted. Then she had caught him staring, at her _lips _of all things. And did he really think she wouldn't notice when his hand momentarily moved towards her? Her mind may have been led by emotion rather than reason, but she wasn't stupid. It had seemed to her for a while that he may have liked her in the way she was beginning to like him, and it made her hopeful for the future development of their relationship. That was, until it had all come crashing down. He had even tried to _hex _her; no hint of the boy who had considered holding her hand had been visible.

The fury ultimately trickled away, as the sadness had, and she was left feeling defeated and slightly depressed. She realized both she_ and_ Draco were at fault, and the realization left her deflated; she dragged her feet to class and wasn't as quick to laugh at Ron's constant jokes.

Her friends noticed her odd behavioral shifts; they would have had to be blind not to realize that she was upset. They questioned her numerous times, but she always lied and came up with excuses: either she was stressed about homework, or was missing her parents, or had just gotten the news that her grandmother's pet goat had just passed away. The last was a bit of a stretch, but her friends had seemed convinced by the tears welling in her eyes; their condolences only made her feel guiltier.

She didn't see the point in telling them the truth, as she reckoned their "I told you so"s and looks of disappointment that she hadn't taken their advice wouldn't help her in the least bit. It wasn't as if telling them could resolve her situation with Draco, anyway; every time she tried to corner him after class, he disappeared before she even managed to take a step towards him. She would have thought he was Disapparating if she didn't know it was impossible within the school boundaries.

Her homework performance was slipping considerably; one Saturday night approximately a week and a half after the incident, she was seated in the common room, staring blankly at the Potions essay she was supposed to be working on. It was the first major assignment since the partner project, and it only reminded her of a smiling Draco who didn't hate her.

"What kind of name is Elvendork?" Harry scoffed, flipping through a Quidditch magazine.

"I've got an aunt named Elvendork," Willow said dully, tracing over the letters of her name, which were the only two words she had written on the parchment.

"I thought it was a boy's name," Ron said, surprised. He was dangling upside down from an armchair, throwing a stray Gobstone in the air repeatedly.

"It's unisex," Hermione said, not looking up from the massive book in her lap.

"Of course you would know that," Ron said lovingly, staring at his girlfriend with admiration.

"I would hope its unisex, or my aunt would be awfully disappointed," Willow said, and everyone laughed, though she herself only managed a feeble smile.

"Are you alright, Willow? You look a bit pale," Ginny said. She was sitting on the floor and leaning against Harry's legs; it was her favorite spot. She had torn her attention away from Arnold, her Pygmy Puff, to look at Willow with concern.

"Just got a bit of a stomach ache," Willow lied, avoiding Ginny's gaze. She looked instead at Arnold, who was rolling around his owner's feet and squeaking happily.

"Maybe you should go see Madam Pomfrey," Ron suggested, continuing to toss the Gobstone. He failed to catch it suddenly, and the marble hit him on the noise, "Ouch," he complained, rubbing his face and angrily chucking the Gobstone halfway across the room. It hit an unsuspecting third year in the head, and she looked around for the culprit, bewildered.

"Keep that up and Willow won't be the only one who needs to see Madam Pomfrey," Hermione scolded, but she was smiling.

"I think I will go," Willow said, rolling up her unwritten essay and shoving it in her bag, "Don't wait up if I'm gone long. I might stay and help out for a while," she said, though staying was her only intention in going down to the Hospital Wing. She had spent many hours there post-Draco; Healing others wasn't the only thing that really managed to take her mind off of him.

"If you see Neville somewhere, would you mind telling him I have a Herbology question to ask him?" Hermione said as Willow turned to leave.

"A Herbology question about _what_? What could you possibly need help with?" Harry asked, barely diverting his attention away from his magazine; he seemed to have found a particularly interesting article, as his nose was hovering centimeters away from the page in a comically Hermione-like fashion.

"Oh, I don't need help. I've just been reading here about this really _fascinating _type of flower and I thought if anyone would know anything more about it it'd be him. What it does is-" she said excitedly, but Harry cut her off, tearing the magazine away from his face and looking sheepish.

"Yeah, er, sorry, but I loss interest after the word 'reading'," he laughed.

"You're reading right now," Hermione scowled.

"Yes, but it's about Quidditch. It's different," Ginny replied defensively, and Hermione shook her head, turning back to Willow.

"You'll tell him, won't you?" she asked sweetly, and Willow nodded.

"Sure, if I see him,"

"He'll be with Luna," Ginny said, tickling Arnold, who was squealing delightedly, with the feathered end of a quill.

"Are they really going with each other, then?" Ron asked incredulously, and Willow left as a particularly sappy conversation began, about things only couples could discuss. She was grateful for the exit; hanging around would have left her feeling like a fifth wheel, as she often did.

She made her way down towards the Hospital Wing, stopping only to interrupt Neville and Luna, who were locked in a close embrace, and tell Neville that Hermione was looking for him. The image of the lip-locked pair didn't do much to help her, but her anxiety lifted considerably as soon as the doors to the Hospital Wing were in sight.

"Madam Pomfrey, I'm here," she called out as she stepped through the door frame. She rounded the corner to see the nurse mopping the forehead of a burly-looking Slytherin.

"He had a bit of a mishap and has to have the bones in his left hand regrown," Madam Pomfrey explained, and Willow realized she had been staring, not at the boy, which was a kind term considering the fact he more closely resembled a gorilla, but at the achingly familiar green lining on his robes, "Would you mind taking care of the girl who just walked in behind you?"

Willow turned silently, and led a fourth year Gryffindor she recognized from the common room to an empty bed. The girl was wincing and hobbling on a swollen ankle, on which bite marks were visible.

"What happened?" Willow asked soothingly, elevating the girl's foot and Summoning a vial of Essence of Dittany from the storage cupboards. She squeezed a few drops into the wound, and the girl's jaw unclenched with visible relief.

"My friend's cat doesn't like me very much," she laughed, "I have half a mind to kick it,"

"I wouldn't do that, unless you want to end up here again," Willow smiled, and the girl grimaced.

"Yeah, well, I'll stay away if I have the choice. Thanks," she told Willow with a quick grin, and disappeared through the doorway, walking normally on her newly healed ankle. Willow Vanished the brown bottle still in her hands, and noticed for the first time something she hadn't seen when she first walked in.

In the far corner, which was so rarely used that it would have collected dust if Madam Pomfrey wasn't a bit of a neat freak, was a bed surrounded in sheets, through which the silhouette of a figure was visible. She was reminded strongly of her nightmare in which she had seen _herself_ lying in a hospital bed, and walked quickly over to Madam Pomfrey; the unfortunate Slytherin was asleep and the nurse was now ruffling through a pile of papers.

"Madam Pomfrey?" Willow asked, and the woman jumped, spilling the papers all over, "Oh, Merlin, I'm sorry," Willow said, and bent down to retrieve the fallen papers from the floor.

"Oh, no bother," Madam Pomfrey said apologetically, sweeping them up with one wave of her wand, "It's just been a tense day,"

"Does it have something to do with the bed in the corner?" Willow asked, unable to withhold her curiosity. Madam Pomfrey looked from her to the unidentified figure several times, before sighing and casting a glance at the Slytherin, who was now snoring loudly.

"I knew you'd ask. I'll tell you, but in my office. I don't want him overhearing," Madam Pomfrey said, sounding defeated, and led Willow through the door. She beckoned for her to sit on a stiff chair, and positioned herself in a chair of a similar sort behind her desk.

"Is it really bad, Madam?" Willow asked, her voice in a slight whisper; she was both excited and nervous for the answer, as it seemed to be something considerably more serious than the usual scrapes and burns.

"It could be, but it won't," Madam Pomfrey said firmly, "You have to promise you won't tell anyone. I don't want to start a school-wide panic,"

"I promise," Willow stated, and felt a slight pang, remembering the last time she had made a promise and how well that had turned out for her. Her heart rate quickened at the word "panic", and her mind raced with all the possibilities. Knowing what she had read about the school, it could have been anything; she thought wildly of the basilisk-based Petrification that had ravaged Hogwarts when she was a first-year, and wondered if Harry really _had _managed to slay the beast.

"What do you know about spattergroit?" Madam Pomfrey asked suddenly, and Willow gaped for a moment, confused.

"I know plenty, I guess, Madam," she answered, unsure what exactly to say.

"So you know that there's a particularly widespread outbreak every one hundred and fifty years," Madam Pomfrey continued.

"Of course,"

"The last one was in 1848, which would make the next one…" Madam Pomfrey trailed off, and Willow completed her thought, starting to catch on.

"Now," she breathed, and Madam Pomfrey nodded grimly.

"You can see why I don't want the whole school knowing about this,"

"But the fungus is only life-threatening after the first six months. Most don't recognize the symptoms until it's too late, which is why it's potentially fatal more often than not," Willow said quickly, quoting the book she had read on the topic when she was thirteen; she memorized anything related to Healing for life, no matter how many years passed before a subject was brought up again.

"Very good," Madam Pomfrey beamed, looking pleased at Willow's knowledge, "But try telling that to a school full of underage witches and wizards. They'll be quick to think the worst,"

"But, Madam Pomfrey, how else are they going to be able to realize they're ill?" Willow asked, and Madam Pomfrey's smiling face quickly turned tense.

"The potions you brought me from Professor Slughorn. We want to give them to all the students in the school regularly as a precaution, but there could be side-effects that the Headmaster doesn't seem to want to risk," she sighed.

"But I hardly think side-effects are any worse than what will happen if students don't realize what they have before the disease becomes deadly," Willow said angrily.

"I agree, Willow, but it's not my choice to make. For now, we've informed all teachers and staff of the issue, and told them to send any students they think might have symptoms straight to us,"

"Is that how the person in there," Willow said, motioning towards the room full of beds, "found out?"

"No, that student happened to be a bit of a hypochondriac and came running to me himself. I knew of his condition and thought he was mistaken, but, for once, he was sadly correct,"

"He'll be fine, though, right, Madam?" Willow asked nervously.

"Of course. He just has to drink the potion for a week or so and he should be Healed. We're lucky to have Professor Slughorn. Not many wizards can brew this particular potion,"

"What do we do from here? Is the disease not contagious?" Willow asked, beginning to panic slightly; a fog had settled over her brain, causing her to forget what the book had said about the spread of the fungus.

"At first, it's only contagious if fluids are exchanged," Madam Pomfrey explained, and Willow thought briefly of a snogging Neville and Luna, "It doesn't become airborne until after the first six months,"

"Knowing the students at this school, we better hope their symptoms are recognized soon," Willow said bitterly, the thought of couples not being one she particularly enjoyed, and Madam Pomfrey chuckled darkly.

"You send any students you think might be infected straight my way, you hear me?" she said, suddenly stern, and Willow nodded, racking her muddled brain for what the telltale signs of the dreadful fungus were.

The words on the page of the book she had read labeled "Knowing the Symptoms" cloudily returned to her memories, and she gasped, standing up suddenly. The chair she had been sitting on fell to the ground with a clatter, and Madam Pomfrey stared at Willow incredulously.

"I bloody knew it," Willow exclaimed, forgetting that the nurse was even there, and Madam Pomfrey clasped a hand to her chest, taken aback by the language she had never heard Willow use.

"Well!" she sniffed, but Willow, not paying her any attention, rushed out of the room as quickly as her feet could carry her.

**A/N: Yes, I made up all the "facts" about spattergroit. I didn't technically **_**change **_**anything Jo wrote about it, just added some things to make it fit my storyline better. It may seem random, but I've had it planned since the first chapter, so bear with me, please! :)**

**Props to you if you know what the whole Elvendork thing is from! **

**Also, I don't know if I'm going to get any comments about the whole Neville/Luna thing, but I'll mention it anyway. Yes, I know they marry other people, but I love the idea of them dating for a while, so I thought I'd incorporate it. After all, not everyone marries their high-school sweetheart. ;)**

**Thanks for reading, and please review!**


	17. Ill

Draco sat in the corner of the Slytherin common room, next to a particularly gruesome fox skull perched on an end table. The book he was trying to read was sitting on the same table, open to the same page that it had been on for an hour. Draco held his chin in his hand and stared at the stone wall, as if there was something new to look at that hadn't been there for the past seven years.

The first time he had walked into the common room, as an eleven year old devilishly excited to finally learn how to control his powers, he'd been in awe of the green tinge created by the room's placement under the lake. Now, he yearned for sunlight, but begrudgingly remained where he was; he reckoned his current position in the castle was the best for avoiding a certain Gryffindor.

The thought of Willow expedited the nausea already rising in his throat because of his eating habits, or rather, the lack of them. It was frustratingly difficult to do anything but poke at his meals when he knew she was only a couple tables away. He could feel her eyes on him constantly; it was like the beginning of the year all over again, though his reasons for eluding her gaze were much different.

He had been filled with regret the second he had stormed into his dormitory the night of what he had coined "the disaster". He was perfectly aware of the fact that he had been overreacting, had known even before Willow had tearfully pointed it out. It was impossible not to discern the fact that having strong friendships was something she deeply craved and cherished; what he had asked her to do rose her fear of losing those friendships.

The fear was ridiculous; Draco knew for a fact that the Gryffindors would not drop Willow for what she had done. Harry Potter had saved Draco's life twice even though the two had been awful to each other for years. If Harry was able to forgive all the terrible things Draco had done to him, there was no doubt that he, and the rest of them, would forgive Willow instantaneously for something so trivial.

Still, it was a fear. Draco was painfully aware of the feeling, and knew how uncontrollable it could be. He had recognized the panicked look in her eyes in that classroom all too well.

He ached to apologize and have her back. Her disappearance from his life left him just as unhappy as he had been before, if not worse. To have hope and have it be punctured was worse than to never have had any hope at all; all the feelings that he had possessed, the ones that accounted for the smiles, had been deflated and banished to the darkest corners of his mind.

But apologizing would mean saying that it was alright if Willow didn't tell her friends about him, and he wasn't sure if he wanted that. He had had his fair share of secrets and sneaking around for other, more sinister, reasons. He was tired of hiding things, of feeling like he was doing something wrong, but Willow's acceptance of the situation was necessary before others could start to accept it as well.

He cursed the fact that having any sort of relationship with him was something that _had _to be accepted. He briefly imagined what his life would be like if his parents had never gotten themselves involved with the Dark Lord; would the younger students still hastily walk away when they saw him coming down the corridor?

The thought only made him feel guiltier, as if he was pinning all of his problems on his family. They had sacrificed so much for him. His mother had lied to the most evil wizard of all time, who wouldn't have hesitated to murder her if he knew, and both she and his father had abandoned the Death Eaters at the last moment, just to look for their son. They had risked their lives out of their love for him, and didn't deserve any bitterness from him. He dropped the thought immediately; he just had to deal with the way others thought of him. For now, at least.

If Willow could see him differently, could _like _him, it was possible for other people to, as well. But that couldn't happen if she refused to tell even her friends about what was going on.

The idea of apologizing eventually disappeared. There was also the fact that his pride held him back; he didn't want to say he was sorry unless she said it first. She too had done wrong, or so he told himself.

He admittedly made apologizing entirely too difficult for her by running away every time she looked over at him and took a step forward. It didn't matter if she was even intending to try to talk to him or not; he didn't take any chances and fled. It was possible that she was attempting to apologize, but part of him feared that she only wanted to tell him off, so he didn't give her the option of either.

Sighing to himself, he settled back into the dark-green leather chair, which felt suddenly uncomfortable, and thought with an intensifying itch in his throat that maybe he was just better off alone.

He was just scratching angrily at the itch still present on his arm and imagining himself living in the large, dark manor, which belonged to him now that his parents were incapacitated, for the rest of his life without a single soul to keep him company, when someone cleared their throat behind him.

Jumping a good foot in the air, he whipped his head around, widening his eyes at the person standing there.

Blaise scratched his head awkwardly, shuffling from foot to foot. Draco could see other people around the room eyeing the two of them curiously, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up in anticipation of what his old friend was going to say. Blaise, however, seemed to have completely forgotten his reason for coming up to Draco for the first time since that summer, and he blinked at Draco blankly, his hand still on top of his head.

"All right, mate?" Draco forced himself to say, his voice coming out strained and unnatural. Blaise dropped his hand in surprise at the word "mate", and his mouth opened slightly. He looked even more uncomfortable, and Draco had the sickening feeling that he had said the wrong thing.

"I'm fine, er, how are you?" Blaise said finally.

"I've been better," Draco replied, utterly confused about why Blaise was suddenly talking to him. His words caused Blaise to hesitate for a moment, before cracking a miniscule smile.

"Listen, I've been asked to come and get you," he said, and Draco felt the tiny bit of hope in his chest that had been fluttering disappear.

"Right. By who?" Draco asked dully, thinking that some teacher wanted to speak to him about his sudden dip in homework performance, and Blaise frowned at the change of tone before continuing.

"There's a girl waiting for you outside. I found her running around the corridors in the dungeon and asked her what she was doing. She said she needed to talk to you and that it was important," he said, and Draco stood up suddenly.

"What girl?"

"That new one, I forget her name. Dark hair, Gryffindor robes, used to be your Potions partner, I think," Blaise stammered, and Draco felt momentarily surprised that Blaise had noticed who Draco had been partnered with.

"Did she say what was so important?" Draco asked quickly, and Blaise's eyebrows etched together in confusion at Draco's unexpected reaction.

"No, she wouldn't say, but she looked as if she'd seen a banshee," he said slowly, shaking his head.

Draco hesitated; would Willow look that scared just to talk to him? If she was coming to apologize, it would make sense that she would be fearful of him not accepting her apology. He didn't reckon that she would go to the trouble of coming all the way down to the Slytherin common room for any other reason, and made to walk towards the door hastily. Blaise made a tiny noise of indignation from behind his back, and Draco turned to look at him.

"Thanks, Blaise," he said, and Blaise stared at him for a few moments before speaking.

"Draco, when you're done with that girl, I'd like to speak with you," he stated firmly, and Draco couldn't help himself. He smiled at the serious tone in Blaise's voice.

"About what, Professor?" he asked sarcastically, and Blaise seemed to momentarily forget how to speak again.

"I just think we should catch up, is all," he said quietly, and smiled nervously as he awaited a response.

"Yeah," Draco agreed after a few seconds of silence, the hope in his chest rising again, "Yeah, me too,"

"Great," Blaise said, looking relieved, "Now go, I reckon that girl might try knocking the door down any moment,"

"Thanks," Draco repeated, and rushed out the doorway. Sure enough, Willow was standing right outside it, wringing her hands and looking frantic. Her hair was wild, as it always was after she had been running, and her robes had slipped slightly, revealing a bare shoulder covered only by an inch-thick strap. Draco only had a moment to stare, all the words he had been planning to say frozen in his throat, before she saw him and yelped.

"Draco, finally, I have-" she began, but Draco interrupted her.

"You didn't have to go to this far a measure to apologize," he smiled, forcing himself to look at her face instead of her exposed skin, and her cheeks flushed. She opened her mouth, looking embarrassed.

"That's not why I'm here," she said quietly, and Draco felt himself share in the mortification. His face stiffened, and he looked down at the floor. She continued, quicker, "I am sorry, I really am, but there's something more important,"

"What?" Draco asked, bemused, looking up at her face again. Her eyes were wide and worried.

"You have to promise you won't panic," she said, and Draco's heart rate quickened.

"Panic about what?" he inquired, and Willow shook her head.

"Promise," she repeated.

"Alright, alright, I promise, now what is it?"

"Maybe it'd be better if I let Madam Pomfrey tell you…" she trailed off, now looking at the floor herself.

"Don't be daft, just tell me," Draco said angrily, feeling a mixture of exasperation and fear. Have Madam Pomfrey tell him _what_? The name of a nurse and the word "panic" were never a good combination.

"Follow me," Willow whispered, casting a nervous glance at the doorway through which any other Slytherin could come clambering at any moment. She led him up the stairs to the main corridor of the dungeon, in which the Potions classroom was found, and down an empty hallway, not stopping until they reached the end.

"Is this really necessary?" Draco asked, looking around at the murky corridor, which didn't even have any doors and was seemingly unused based on the large spiderweb in the corner. The only light was from a small lantern flickering on the wall right above Willow, whose anxious face was illuminated. Her shoulder was still exposed, and he felt the sudden urge to pull her robe back up and cover it.

Seemingly reading his thoughts, Willow nervously did exactly what Draco had considered doing; he felt himself start to breathe easier, and he frowned, confused by his own emotions.

"Madam Pomfrey doesn't want anyone to know," she said, and Draco blinked, having momentarily forgotten that he had even asked a question in the first place.

"So-" he began, but she cut him off.

"You have spattergroit, Draco," she blurted out, and winced at the sudden incredulous look on his face. He stared for a few moments, before laughing loudly and deeply. Her distressed expression didn't disappear, only worsened.

"That's absolutely ridiculous," he choked in between laughs, but she shook her head, pouting slightly.

"It's not, Draco. Let me explain,"

"If this is just some elaborate plan to get me to be your friend again or something-" he chuckled, but she interrupted him again, now looking a bit cross.

"I _said_, let me explain. When you think of spattergroit, you think of a person covered in pustules and lying on their deathbed, right?" she asked.

"Well, yeah," he sputtered, a bit taken aback by the firmness of her tone.

"It's not always like that. For the first few months it's much less serious, which is why most people don't realize they have it," she explained.

"I don't understand," he shook his head, and she sighed, exasperated.

"The spattergroit you know is extremely dangerous, life-threatening even. But if you catch it before it gets that bad, it's easily treatable. You just have to recognize the symptoms," she told him in the tone of voice one would use with a young child.

"And how do you know all this?" he asked, still disbelieving.

"I _told _you. I want to be a Healer. I know a lot more about these kinds of things than you would expect," she said, looking a bit proud.

"So what exactly are my 'symptoms'?" he asked, his tone sarcastic, but there was a hint of concern hidden behind it.

"Well, first of all, there's fatigue. You're not quite there yet, but you seem to get tired pretty early every day. An eighteen year old boy getting tired at eight in the evening is hardly normal,"

"Just because I like to sleep doesn't mean I'm ill," Draco said angrily, but she continued, ignoring him.

"There's also the fact that the fungus coats your throat and leaves you unable to talk. You're not there yet either, obviously, but you _have_ been coughing a lot,"

Draco unconsciously lifted a hand to his throat; he was starting to panic slightly, despite his promise not to. He had never thought of the itch in his throat as something to worry about; he thought it was just a constant reminder of the situation with his parents.

"And, of course, the pustules," Willow continued, "I thought I saw them on your arm with the Dark – er, on your left arm. That's why I was staring," she said, blushing.

"But, they're hardly pustules. They're just dots," he croaked, choosing to ignore the guilt rising at fact that he had been wrong about why she was looking at his arm, "And I thought they were supposed to be everywhere,"

"They would be, eventually," she nodded, "But they always start small, and in one concentrated area. Most people think it's just a rash," she said sadly, and Draco gulped. What he had thought was just irritation caused by the dry, autumn air wasn't a rash after all; he was thoroughly convinced that everything Willow had told him was true, and he could feel his head spinning.

"How can you be sure that…_it's _what I have?" he asked in a last attempt.

"There's an outbreak every one hundred and fifty years. And it's been exactly that long since the last one. There's already one student with it in the hospital wing," she grimaced.

"What do I do?" he squeaked after a few moments of silence, and Willow looked at him sympathetically.

"Just come with me to Madam Pomfrey. It'll take a week or so, but then you'll be fine," she tried to say reassuringly.

"Don't I have to stand in eels' eyes with a frog liver or something?" he asked frantically, and she smiled.

"Toad, not frog," she said, and laughed at the sudden panic on his face, "But that's not true. There's a potion you have to take, is all," she told him, and he felt himself relax slightly.

"Oh. Right. Good. Great," he stuttered stupidly, and she laughed again.

"You'll be perfectly fine," she repeated, and her expression softened as she added, quieter, "Don't be scared,"

She hesitated for a moment, then held her hand out to him.

"Here. I'll take you to the hospital wing," she whispered. Draco stared at her outstretched fingers, and almost took them in his own, his stomach swooping, before he thought of something and pulled away. She blinked at him before dropping her hand as well, seemingly disappointed.

"Aren't I contagious?" he asked, and her expression brightened at the explanation of why he hadn't taken her hand.

"Not yet. The only way you can spread it is through bodily fluids," she explained, and he raised his eyebrows.

"Then how the bloody hell did _I _get it?" he asked, and she looked away, embarrassed.

"Did you not…?" she trailed off, but he knew what she was thinking. He almost laughed out loud at the concept.

"Willow, I don't even_ talk _to anyone. Do you really think I go around snogging girls?"

"No, I suppose not," she said, but something in her voice said she didn't believe him, "I'm not sure how you could have gotten it. I guess if anyone's blood or tears or anything of that sort got on you when you had a cut, then you could have been infected,"

Draco thought of the battle that had taken place at Hogwarts about five months earlier; there was certainly a possibility that it had happened then. Blood hadn't exactly been a surprising thing to come across, and he himself had been covered in more scrapes and cuts than he could've counted. He chose not to relay this information out loud; even the thought of that day made the nausea rise in his throat again.

"Right, well, what's more important than how you got it is getting rid of it," she continued, and began to walk. Draco stared after her for a moment, a bit upset by the fact that she hadn't offered her hand for him to hold again, before running to catch up. She was walking briskly and with determination, and even his long legs had to struggle to keep up.

"You can slow down. I hardly doubt I'm going to drop dead within the next ten minutes," he told her, and she obeyed, slackening her pace to one that was still quicker than normal but that didn't make it look as if there was a fire behind them.

"Sorry. I just really hope you get better soon," she said, turning to look at him.

Draco stared silently into her wide eyes, reading more than just worry. He saw apology and sadness, but also a hope, unrelated to his illness, that he knew was reflected in his own.

He smiled reassuringly at her before responding:

"Me, too,"

**A/N: Shoutout to chocykitty for knowing it was Draco who had spattergroit, and to Ali for knowing that "Elvendork" is from the prequel that Jo wrote about James and Sirius. :)**

**Also, as to who the anonymous Slytherin who had to have his bones regrown was, I have no idea. He was just a filler for the chapter, haha!**

**Thanks for the awesome reviews, keep it up, please! **


	18. Touch

A couple days later found Willow tentatively pulling back a sheet suspended from the ceiling, peeking through the hole she created at a boy sitting on a stark-white bed. His head lifted at the sound of the rustling sheets, and he smiled gratefully when the two made eye contact.

"I'm awake, come in," Draco said, beckoning for Willow to come closer. He looked at his own hand, and dropped it suddenly, curling his lip in disgust, "Sorry. I forgot that was my bad hand,"

"Pustules spread, huh?" Willow asked calmly, though it wasn't the type of question most people asked their friends on an everyday basis. She finally walked in, letting the sheet fall back behind her to shield the two of them from prying eyes. An empty chair sat at Draco's bedside, waiting for her, and she lowered herself into it.

"Yeah, I panicked at first, but Madam Pomfrey said it was normal," Draco sighed bitterly, examining the unattractive red splotches dotting all the skin from his left elbow to the tips of his fingers; even his Dark Mark was practically hidden beneath them. He pulled his sleeve down and looked back up at Willow, smirking slightly, "She also told me you've been sitting here and watching me sleep,"

"I was _not _watching you sleep!" Willow exclaimed, blushing deep red, "I was just…keeping an eye on you and…keeping you company…in case you woke up," she stammered under his piercing gaze. His smirk widened, but he didn't argue, opting instead to lean back against his pillows and stretch, yawning. Willow found herself watching the taut muscles in his arms, and her face burned again.

"Sorry about that," he said sincerely, and Willow thought for a heart-stopping moment that he was apologizing for stretching, that he knew the effect he unwillingly had on her, "The potions I have to drink make me even more tired than I was before, which is a bit ironic. It's a miracle I'm awake right now," he continued, and Willow almost let out an audible sigh of relief.

"Oh, that's alright. It's not your fault," she said tenderly, smiling, "Though it is nice to finally be able to talk," she added, her voice taking on a more uncomfortable tone. Draco seemed to notice, and grimaced, staring at her for a few moments before responding.

"I reckon you want to talk about that, er, disagreement we had," he said awkwardly, and Willow couldn't help but giggle.

"Disagreement?" she marveled, and he smiled, laughing as well.

"For lack of a better word," he admitted.

There were a few moments of silence in which they were both too embarrassed to speak first. Willow thought of the Draco that had threatened to hex her, whose face was cold and stiff; she looked at the Draco in front of her now, who looked slightly worried but, at the most part, friendly. He was looking at her as well, his gray eyes searching, but she had no idea what was going on his head. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, seemingly trying to find the right words to say.

"I'm sorry," Willow finally blurted, just to break the tension.

"I was a prat," Draco said just as quickly in response.

"No," Willow shook her head, though she secretly agreed. Her remorse from her own actions overrode her bitterness at Draco's, however, and she continued, "It wasn't fair of me not to tell anyone about you. You shouldn't have to feel like you're a secret that has to be kept,"

"It wasn't fair of _me _to try to force you to tell them right away when I knew you were scared," Draco urged, and there was again a silence in which they both stared at each other. Willow's voice caught in her throat at the silver that was beginning to flood into his eyes, and Draco visibly gulped, for reasons unknown to her.

They both looked away and listened wordlessly as the door of the hospital wing banged open and someone began to cry, explaining in-between shaky sobs that they were covered in boils because they spilled a poorly made potion. Madam Pomfrey's soothing voice came floating in, calming the bawling student.

Willow caught Draco's eye again, and knew he too was remembering when the two of them had been in a similar situation what seemed like ages ago, when Willow's Draught of Peace had gone horribly wrong. She had bought a new Potions book, but still held on to the old one; the large hole in it hadn't gone all the way through and had proved to be a good place to hide small belongings. It was also a reminder of the first time she had managed to make Draco smile, no matter how wrong things had gone after that.

Draco began to laugh suddenly, and Willow blinked for a few moments, bewildered, before her voice unhitched from her throat and she too began to laugh. They laughed long and hard, until tears began to sprout from the corners of Willow's eyes and Draco was holding his stomach, wincing in between guffaws.

They were just beginning to calm themselves when the sheets flew open and Madam Pomfrey stood staring at them, her eyes wide and confused. Willow attempted wipe the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand, feeling short of breath, and Draco was barely suppressing uncharacteristic giggles. His lips were pressed together but slowly turning upwards, and he was shaking slightly in silent laughter.

"What's going on in here?" Madam Pomfrey asked suspiciously, looking between the two of them.

"Just having a laugh, Madam Pomfrey," Willow chirped, and Draco snickered. She forced herself not to look at him, knowing she wouldn't be able to stop herself from chuckling out loud if she did.

"Right, well," Madam Pomfrey hesitated, clearly not used to seeing Draco in such a state, "I have to give Mr. Malfoy his medicine," she explained, holding up a bottle of unlabeled potion.

"I can do it," Willow exclaimed, but dropped her outstretched hand, disappointed, when Madam Pomfrey shook her head vigorously.

"No, no, this is one thing I'd much prefer to do myself," she said, bustling towards Draco and Summoning a cup out of thin air. She uncorked the bottle and waved her wand at it, and it tipped over and began to pour an unpleasant liquid into the cup. Draco's smile disappeared and he groaned, wrinkling his nose at the bubbling dark-yellow concoction.

"Do I have to?" he asked stupidly, though the answer was obvious. Madam Pomfrey gave him a disapproving look and handed him the cup. He sniffed at it and grimaced, before downing the whole thing in one gulp. He swallowed with what was evident difficulty, and handed the cup back to the nurse, looking as if he was about to sick.

"Out with you, now," Madam Pomfrey said, turning towards Willow, "Mr. Malfoy will be falling asleep shortly,"

"I want her to stay," Draco said quickly, surprising both Madam Pomfrey and Willow, the latter looking at him with tenderness and the former with disbelief. He looked at Willow and continued, "You'll stay until I'm asleep, won't you?" he asked, and Willow nodded, momentarily lost for words.

"Very well then, just don't laugh so loudly this time. Other students are sleeping," Madam Pomfrey said, and looked between the two of them again, though, this time, there was something unreadable in her expression. She left, and seemed to have forgotten about the potion; it remained on Draco's nightstand.

He stared at it for a few moments, before turning back to Willow, who was still looking at him tenderly. She blinked when he looked at her, trying to change the look on her face to something more platonic.

"I can't remember the last time I laughed like that," Draco said quietly.

"Me neither," Willow whispered truthfully. Draco hesitated, seemingly battling with his own mind about something.

"Let's just…forget about what happened," he said finally, and Willow frowned, confused.

"About laughing?" she asked.

"Oh, no, not that!" Draco exclaimed quickly, "You know what I'm talking about,"

"Oh," Willow said stupidly, "Right. Yes, let's,"

"Good," Draco sighed, apparently relieved, and sank back into his pillows. His eyes were beginning to droop, and Willow knew she only had a couple minutes before he would be asleep.

"Actually, let's not," Willow changed her mind, her heart pounding against her rib cage in anticipation of what she had suddenly decided to do.

"Sorry?" Draco sat up again, his eyes widening.

"You had a right to be angry," she continued, "I have to tell my friends,"

Draco opened his mouth slightly, as if to say something, but shook his head instead.

"You don't," he argued, but the strain in his voice said otherwise.

"I do," Willow pressed, "And I will. Today," she added.

Draco blinked at her, a smile beginning to creep onto his lips. He gripped her hand suddenly and unexpectedly, and Willow's heart leapt into her throat; it was the first real contact of the kind between the two of them, and she could feel her palm becoming clammy. She was sure he could feel her rapid pulse, but he didn't say anything, just squeezed her hand within his own. He was staring at her, but she couldn't bring herself to look back at him; she gazed at their intertwined fingers instead, feeling confused, bewildered, and, above all, suddenly euphoric.

His grip slackened and she finally looked up to see him struggling against his heavy eyelids. He tried to keep ahold of her hand, but his fingers slipped out and fell onto the bed. He finally stopped fighting the sleep overtaking him, and his eyes closed, but he was smiling.

"You're incredible," he said, his words slurred slightly but still completely comprehensible. Willow racked her brain for any acceptable response, but she failed to think of anything before Draco's breathing became deep and even; he was asleep.

Without really knowing what she was doing, she brushed a few blonde strands of hair off of his forehead, her own hair tickling his face as she leaned over him. He stirred slightly, but didn't wake, and she leaned back again, watching him for a few moments before standing up suddenly and slipping out from between the dangling sheets.

She walked quickly towards the exit of the hospital wing, filled with surging determination. A mingling sense of fear managed to slip into her senses, and she slowed slightly, her throat closing nervously in anticipation.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she saw the same Slytherin that had fetched Draco from the common room for her. She didn't expect him to acknowledge her and attempted to walk right past, but he held out a hand in the narrow corridor, stopping her in her tracks.

"Go on, I'll catch up" he told the two other boys he had been walking with, and they glanced from him to Willow with etched eyebrows before shrugging and walking away.

"You're the girl from the other day," he said, turning his attention back to Willow.

"Willow," she told him, unsure why, and he nodded.

"Blaise," he responded, "Look, I've been wanting to talk to Draco but I haven't seen him at all for the past two days. Do you know where he is?" he asked, and Willow hesitated, unsure whether she should tell him or not. He seemed to understand the look on her face, and continued, his voice pleading slightly, "He's one of my best friends and I really want to speak to him,"

"I'm…I'm not sure it's my place to say," she told him.

"Please," he added, placing a hand on her shoulder. It seemed to be a difficult task for him, judging by the way his handsome face turned slightly uncomfortable.

"He's in the hospital wing," Willow sighed after a few seconds of silence; she reckoned Draco could use another friend, and Blaise seemed to be sincere in his intentions, "But he's asleep right now, you might want to wait a few hours before you go,"

"Hospital wing?" Blaise repeated, his eyes wide, "Why?"

"That's definitely not my place to say," Willow told him, and he blinked.

"Alright, well, thanks," he said, and turned to leave, but thought of something and looked at her, "What's going on between the two of you?" he asked, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"We-" she began, but realized she wasn't entirely sure how to answer the question, or if her answer would be the same as Draco's, "You'll have to ask him,"

Blaise nodded once more, before leaving her alone once more; her thoughts were brought back to the impending situation awaiting her in her own common room.

_They'll understand_, she attempted to convince herself as she made her way to the Gryffindor tower.

She had told Draco on a sort of impulse that she would inform her friends about him, but, after his reaction, there was no way she could even think of backing out. Her hand felt as if it didn't belong with her; it was unnaturally cold after breaking contact with Draco's, as if all its heat had transferred to his body. And he had called her "incredible"; never in her life had she been called anything like that.

He made her feel more wanted than anyone ever had, and the feeling was brilliant. She almost felt as if losing the Gryffindors was something she could handle, as long as she still had him. Her lack of close friendships within her life made her rapidly developing relationship with him seem like something out of a dream, and she practically floated up the stairs, her usual judgment somewhat clouded.

Still, the thought of the disappointment she was certain the Gryffindors would have in her made her heart, which was still residing happily in her throat, drop into her stomach like a pile of bricks, and her gut twisted as she neared the portrait hole. She hoped suddenly that her friends wouldn't be there, giving her more time to prepare herself, but as she scrambled through, she could already see the top of Ginny's fiery red hair.

"Willow!" Hermione exclaimed from over the Daily Prophet in her lap as Willow hesitantly walked up to where everyone was crowded around the fire, per-usual, "What's a seven letter word for 'gold digger'?" she asked, and Willow, drawing closer, could see Hermione's quill hovering over a crossword puzzle.

"Niffler," Willow said without thinking, lowering herself into an empty armchair slowly as Hermione yelped gleefully, scribbling the word hastily into the empty boxes.

Willow looked around at her friends with a rush of affection: Neville was sitting on the floor and watching his toad capture and eat a scuttling spider with a disgusted look on his face, Ron was playing a game of Wizard's Chess by himself and rotating the board every few moments so he could play as both sides, Hermione was chewing on the end of her quill thoughtfully and staring at the crossword yet to be completed, Harry was lounging with his eyes closed and his arm wrapped around Ginny's shoulder, and Ginny was curled up with The Quibbler held open in her hands.

"Listen, I have to talk to you guys," she blurted out before she could change her mind.

"What's up?" Ginny asked, still squinting at the newspaper she was reading.

"It's about Draco Malfoy," Willow responded, and Ginny took a deep breath before closing the newspaper. Neville tore his eyes away from his toad, Ron stopped muttering directions to the playing pieces on his chessboard, Hermione put her quill down, and Harry begrudgingly opened his eyes.

"Willow, look-" Hermione began, but Willow cut her off.

"He's different than you think," she told them, and they all blinked silently for a few moments.

"Meaning what?" Ron finally asked.

"He's…sweet," Willow said, unsure of another word to describe Draco with. Neville scoffed, and Hermione shot him a look.

"Is he really?" she asked kindly, looking at Willow curiously.

"Yes," Willow nodded vigorously, "He's my…" she trailed off, but forced herself to continue, "He's my friend," she concluded, her voice surprisingly firmer than she thought she could manage.

"Well, that's an interesting turn of events," Harry said, his eyebrows raised, "Malfoy is friends with a Gryffindor. Who would have thought?" he asked, more to himself than to anyone else.

"I reckon you didn't take our advice and forget about him, then?" Ginny smiled.

"No, but I don't want to," Willow admitted.

"Well, good for you then," Ron said, not unkindly, and the rest of the group, excluding Neville, murmured their agreement. Ron turned his attention back to the chessboard, making one of the black knights brutally knock over a white rook.

"That's it?" Willow asked, utterly bewildered, and Ginny looked up at her from the newspaper she had again picked up.

"Were you _scared _to tell us?" she asked, reading the expression on Willow's face with impressive accuracy.

"Well, yeah. You kept telling me to drop him. I thought you'd be angry with me, or at least disappointed,"

"We only told you that because we were trying to protect you. Clearly he's nice to you, judging by the way you talk about him, so we have no reason to be angry," Hermione said, smiling at Willow reassuringly.

"We're not selfish. You're allowed to have other friends," Harry laughed.

"But if he hurts you, he has us to answer to," Neville said angrily, his voice a stark contrast against the others'.

"He won't," Willow said quietly, and blushed when Ginny gave her a questioning look over the top of The Quibbler. She avoided Ginny's gaze, staring instead at the front of the newspaper, which said something about a Wrackspurt infestation in Diagon Alley.

"You can relax now. We're not going to storm off and claim we're not your friends anymore," Ron chuckled, and only then did Willow realize how ridiculous her fears had been and how incredibly accurate Draco had been when he spoke about the situation. She flushed, embarrassed.

"Just don't expect us to want to be friends with him, too, alright?" Harry asked, grimacing and Willow nodded in response, not at all surprised by the request.

She leaned back in the armchair, feeling exactly what Ron had told her to feel: for the first time in Merlin knows how long, she felt relaxed.

**A/N: FLUFFINESS. I LOVE FLUFFINESS.**

**Thanks to all my new followers, hopefully you all like fluffiness, too, hahah!**

**Thanks also for the reviews, please keep it up! :)**


	19. Uncertain

When Draco awoke, the feeble smile on his face presented itself before he even managed to open his eyes all the way.

From the miniscule crack he was peering through, he could tell that someone was sitting in the chair at his bedside. He smiled for her, for Willow, until he realized that the person had considerably darker skin and much more masculine features, at which point the smile wiped off his face completely.

He sat up with some difficulty, opened his eyes as far as he could manage, and furrowed his eyebrows at the intruder in Willow's chair until the face came into complete focus.

"Blaise?" he asked stupidly, his voice still laced with sleep.

Blaise nodded, looking a bit uncomfortable.

"What are you doing here?" Draco asked, finally feeling a bit more awake. He watched his old friend through slightly narrowed eyes, though the narrowing was now of a suspicious accord as opposed to a sleepy one.

"We were supposed to talk, remember?" Blaise asked, and Draco remembered promising to come back and talk to Blaise right before he left to see Willow. Once she had told him why she had needed to see him so badly, the thought of Blaise had slipped out of his mind completely; it was difficult to keep promises when he wasn't even allowed to leave his bed, let alone the hospital wing in its entirety.

"Right, sorry, I've had a strange few days," Draco apologized and Blaise nodded again, still looking a bit uncertain, but a hint of a smile was beginning to appear on his lips.

"I can see that," Blaise said awkwardly.

"How did you know I was here?" Draco asked suddenly, realizing that nobody was supposed to know about his condition or about the fact that he even had a condition in the first place. As far as he knew, the teachers were supposed to keep their mouths shut on the matter and ignore anyone who questioned his sudden disappearance.

_Not that anyone would care_, he thought with a slightly sinking heart. He doubted any of his peers would even notice his absence, let alone bring it up to a teacher. Nobody cared about him that much, with the exception of Willow and now, perhaps Blaise.

"Willow told me," Blaise explained, and Draco raised an eyebrow at the fact that Blaise seemed to be on a first name basis with her, "I might have forced it out of her, but-"

"Forced it out of her _how_?" Draco cut him off frantically, images of all the hexes he knew Blaise capable of flashing through his mind. Not one of them was something he would wish on Willow, and he stared wide-eyed at Blaise, his whole body tense, anticipating a response.

"Not like that," Blaise chuckled nervously at Draco's unexpected reaction, "I just…asked her a few times. Nicely," he added as an afterthought, and looked a bit bewildered with himself. Draco stared a bit longer, then laughed in a mixture of relief and disbelief.

"You asked her _nicely_?" he asked skeptically, and when Blaise gave a slight bob of his head, he laughed again, "Things are changing around here, that's for sure,"

"True," Blaise agreed, "For instance, a Gryffindor knows why you're here and I don't," he pointed out, attempting to laugh, but there was a hint of bitterness hidden in his words.

"No one's supposed to know," Draco told him, surprisingly feeling a bit guilty, "Willow does because she's the reason I'm here. She realized what I had before I did,"

"That's surprising. _You're _supposed to be the genius," Blaise said, his eyebrows rising.

"She's brilliant when it comes to this Healing stuff," Draco murmured, and Blaise gave him a strange look. Draco cleared his throat, and continued, "I'll tell you what it is, but you can't tell anyone else,"

"I won't," Blaise said firmly, and Draco studied his face momentarily before deeming him credible.

"I have spattergroit, Blaise," he whispered, mostly for dramatic effect and for a bit of entertainment, which was difficult to come by in the hospital wing. He burst into fits of laughter, similar to the ones he shared with Willow earlier in the day, when Blaise fell backwards off his chair, scrambling to his feet and backing up so far that his back was pressed to the dressings around the bed.

"Isn't that insanely contagious?" Blaise asked in a high-pitched voice, his face contorted with worry.

"No, not if you treat it before it gets bad," Draco said to calm him down, but he was still chuckling slightly as Blaise somewhat relaxed and stepped closer.

"Treat it? Don't you have to do something that involves you being naked with a frog liver?" he asked nervously.

"Toad, not frog. I made the same mistake," Draco laughed and, seeing the confused look on Blaise's face, added in a calmer tone, "I just have to drink a potion,"

"Right," Blaise said unsurely, but lowered himself back into the chair, "Can I ask you something?" he asked suddenly.

"Er, alright," Draco asked, surprisingly a bit anxious.

"Since when are you so _happy_?" he asked, and added quickly, "It's nice and I'm glad that you're laughing and all, mate, but it's just strange,"

Draco blinked, debating how best to answer Blaise's question. He was right, of course; Draco was much happier than he had been when he got on the Hogwarts Express in the beginning of the year. He was happier than he had been when he ignored all of Blaise's letters and pretended he wasn't home when Blaise showed up on his doorstep. He was just happier in general, happier than he'd been in ages.

He knew why, there was no doubt about it. He could attribute it all to Willow. He thought about her briefly; of her wide dark eyes, and how they often softened with tenderness when she looked at him. Of her hand on his when he grabbed it last night, and how silky her fingers felt against his cool skin. Of her soft hair on his forehead when she smoothed some of his own hair out of his eyes while he was half asleep but still conscious of his surroundings.

He wondered briefly if that had even happened, or if the dreamy state he had been in had caused him to imagine the whole thing. He hoped not; the gesture had been affectionate and was even more proof of his rising suspicions that the way she felt about him was more than just platonic. He realized with a start that he _wanted_ her to want him, and not just for his own pride reasons; it was a slightly bewildering thought, but he was also beginning to realize something else. Something he was convinced would _never _happen, let alone so soon.

"Draco?" Blaise asked hesitantly, and Draco blinked wildly, momentarily confused as to where he was and what he was doing.

"Yes?" he asked, to stall for time, and Blaise narrowed his eyes to scrutinize Draco's face, before smiling and shaking his head.

"It's the bloody girl that's doing this to you," he accused.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Draco lied, but Blaise shook a finger at him.

"Don't bullshit me. We may have been, er, _distant _for a while, but that doesn't mean I don't know you," he said in the same accusatory tone, but his voice softened when he continued, "Are the two of you…?" he trailed off.

"No," Draco said quickly, "We're friends, Blaise,"

"Well, sorry, mate, that blows," Blaise grinned, and Draco wrinkled his nose at the satisfied smirk on Blaise's face.

"She's into me," he said haughtily, his pride taking over, and Blaise's smile widened.

"Is she now? I would have thought you'd be all over that, then," he wiggled his eyebrows, and Draco stared at him silently for a few seconds.

"It's complicated," he sighed finally, and Blaise's smile disappeared, replaced with a look of concern.

"Draco Malfoy," he said seriously, "You have actual _feelings_ for this girl,"

Draco pulled one of the pillows out from behind his back and pressed it to his face, groaning as Blaise again began to laugh.

"This is bloody fantastic," Blaise said excitedly, "I hope for your sake that your kids are in Slytherin, though I reckon everyone wants their kids to be in their old House. She might just keep popping them out until one of them ends up in Gryff-"

"Blaise," Draco said calmly, lifting his head.

"Yeah?"

"Shut up," Draco growled, and Blaise laughed loudly.

"If you like her, and you reckon she likes you, why don't you just _tell _her?" Blaise asked as if this was the most obvious and foolproof plan ever to exist.

"I'm not positive she does, and I'm scared of screwing up what we already have," Draco said quietly.

"Just go for it, mate," Blaise urged, then glanced at his watch and stood up suddenly, "Listen, I have to go. I have an, um, _appointment_,"

"An appointment?" Draco asked in disbelief, and Blaise smirked.

"So maybe it's more of a hot date in an empty corridor," he shrugged, and Draco laughed.

"Can't miss that," he said sarcastically.

"Glad you understand. But, hey," Blaise said, looking serious, "I'm glad we got to talk,"

"Me, too," Draco agreed truthfully.

"And about your girl," Blaise continued, ignoring Draco's scoff at the word choice, "I meant it when I said you should just go for it. No pain, no gain,"

"Isn't that a Muggle phrase?" Draco asked, confused, and Blaise seemed to think for a moment.

"I suppose it is. I've run out of pureblood girls, and I've got needs," he shrugged.

"Oh, _sick. _I don't even want to know what kind of situation you were in if a girl had to use _that_ phrase," Draco exclaimed, his nose crinkled in disgust.

"No, you don't," Blaise agreed with a smirk, one hand already pulling apart the sheets blocking Draco's bed from the rest of the room, "I'll see you, mate,"

"See you," Draco repeated, and Blaise threw him one last grateful smile before pulling the sheets open and loping out. Draco looked after him, feeling both confused and warm-hearted after the conversation with his old friend, but before the dressings managed to close all the way, he caught the eye of Neville Longbottom, who was standing with his arms crossed and looking around the room.

When their eyes met, Neville's narrowed, but Draco didn't get a chance to see anything else before he was again hidden from view. Within a few moments, however, the sheets opened and Neville stepped through. He stood over Draco's bed and looked down at him suspiciously, his arms still folded.

"Can I help you?" Draco asked, a bit bewildered but also slightly amused at the uncharacteristically haughty look on the boy's face.

He was used to a timid Neville, who had a shaky voice and would pass out in the middle of the class for no reason in particular. The Neville standing in front of him now was different; the lack of Harry's presence the year before had caused him to uncover the leadership he never knew he had, and he was tough and strong, glaring down at Draco Malfoy without as much as a frightful tremble. Ever since Neville had been the one to kill the Dark Lord's snake, he walked with his head held higher and the in-class fainting stopped for good.

It was almost disappointing; seeing Neville's eyes roll backwards in his head whenever Snape had called on him always added a comical effect to Potions class. The thought of Snape caused Draco's stomach to lurch, and he drew his attention back to the boy in front of him.

"No," Neville responded, not wavering in the least bit, and Draco blinked at him.

"Then may I ask what you're doing here?" Draco continued, resolving that friendliness was the way to go. He hardly thought a duel in the hospital wing was something that Madam Pomfrey would appreciate; nor Willow, for that matter, considering Neville was one of her friends as well.

"I came with someone who wasn't feeling well, but now I want to talk to you," Neville said calmly and enigmatically.

"Great, but, see, now's not really a great time. I happen to be a bit ill as well-" Draco explained, but Neville cut him off.

"I don't care why you're here," he said in the same even tone, "Just listen to me for a moment,"

"Alright," Draco agreed just as calmly. He folded his hands on the pillow in his lap and looked at Neville attentively. The boy shuffled from foot to foot, looking momentarily taken aback by Draco's pleasant attitude, but he cleared his throat and continued to speak.

"Willow told us about the two of you," he began. Draco felt his heart rise slightly; she really _had_ told her friends about him. He couldn't help but smile, but turned his attention back to Neville, who was still speaking, "Look, I don't know what you're doing or why. But if you hurt her, you'll be sorry,"

"I have no intention of doing that," Draco frowned.

"I sure hope not," Neville scowled in response, "She's a great girl,"

"I know that," Draco agreed with a nod, still frowning.

"Too great for you," Neville continued coldly, and Draco's mouth opened slightly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, suddenly angry.

"I mean that you're not good enough for her," Neville clarified, and Draco's nostrils flared.

"What are you, jealous or something?" he accused.

"I'll have you know that I _have _a girlfriend," Neville huffed.

"Who'd be thick enough to want _you_?" Draco scoffed, all of his intentions to remain civil disappearing.

"Luna's not thick," Neville hissed, and Draco laughed unkindly.

"Luna _Lovegood_? That makes sense. Interesting couple the two of you make. Loony and Largebottom-" he began, but was cut off when Neville punched straight him in the nose. Stars danced behind his eyes, and he looked up incredulously at his attacker, who was fuming but also staring at his fist as if he couldn't believe what he had just done.

"This is exactly what I mean. Willow's sweet, and you're just an arrogant prat," he said finally, looking down at Draco, "Just watch yourself,"

Draco felt every inch of himself bubble up with anger, and he ignored the throbbing in his nose to glare at the boy, spitting out his next words with the kind of vile tone he had been known for in the past but hadn't used in ages:

"You should watch _yourself _when I shove my foot up your-"

"Neville!" a breathy voice floated in, interrupting Draco, and moments later the sheets were pulled apart again. Luna Lovegood's dreamy face poked in, and she wore a large smile. Her already gigantic eyes were so wide that Draco had the sickening impression that they would pop out at any moment.

"Yes?" Neville asked uncertainly, turning to her.

"Fantastic news!" she beamed, seemingly unfazed by the fact that her boyfriend was having a not-so-friendly and not-so-quiet conversation with his childhood enemy, "It seems that I have spattergroit,"

Draco stared at her in disbelief, and Neville froze.

"F-fantastic?" he sputtered, his voice high-pitched, "L-luna, how exactly is that _fantastic_?"

"Don't you know?" Luna said excitedly, "Once you've had it, you're immune to Blibbering Humdinger venom _forever_,"

"Blubbering Hum_what_?" Draco asked, and she turned to him, twirling the ends of her impossibly long hair.

"You have it too, don't you?" she said in a hushed tone, bringing her fingers up to her lips, "Aren't you excited?"

"Oh, yes, I'm absolutely thrilled," Draco responded, trying his hardest not to laugh, though his insides were still curdling in fury at Neville's words.

"But, Luna, if you have it, doesn't that mean…" Neville trailed off, and Luna turned back to him.

"That you have it as well? Oh, yes, there's no doubt about that," she smiled, and Draco imagined the two of them snogging. A shudder ran down his spine, and his face contorted.

Neville looked at Luna, then at Draco, and then at the ceiling, his eyes wide and his hands shaking slightly. Before Draco realized what was happening, Neville slumped to the floor; Draco's thoughts that the boy's fainting days were over had seemingly been incorrect.

The sight of Neville sprawled on the ground, a stream of drool dripping from his mouth, with Luna Lovegood crouching over him and poking his face would have been comical in any other situation, but Draco no longer felt any desire to laugh. Instead, he looked down at them with uncontrollable anger and a hint of disgust/

He didn't even blink when Madam Pomfrey came rushing in, pointing Luna to a separate bed and reviving Neville with a wave of a wand. There was no upturning of lips when Neville sat up, looking dizzy, only to fall back down when Madam Pomfrey whispered something to him. All Draco felt was a burning in his throat when the nurse sighed in resignation and levitated Neville out, shooting Draco a worried look before she disappeared and closed the dressings behind her.

Being in the hospital wing at the same time as Neville Longbottom was not something he ever wanted to happen; he wouldn't wish it upon his worst enemies. He burned with hatred for Neville, for every centimeter of him: his stupidly round face, his irritatingly messy blond hair, and his annoyingly bucked teeth.

Especially since what he had said was prickling in the back of Draco's brain, taunting him and making his lips curl into a deep frown. He didn't want to admit it, but part of him agreed with the unkind words, and he felt his heart sink. It went down into his stomach, causing a wave of nausea to pass over him, and continued dropping until it reached his feet.

Perhaps he really wasn't good enough for Willow.

**A/N: Super dialogue-heavy, I'm sorry about that, but it was necessary for plot development. Don't hate me!**

**Thanks for the lovely reviews, as always, and thanks for reading! :)**


	20. Mess

Ginny wouldn't stop giving Willow strange looks.

They were sitting in the common room after dinner, as always, and everyone had decided to put aside their homework for a bit to play a game of Exploding Snap. A multitude of other Gryffindors, sick of nonstop work, had joined in as well. Willow knew some of them well enough, such as Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, but many of them were practically strangers, familiar only because they too spent all their free time in the Gryffindor tower.

It was a nice feeling, crowding around the table that Hermione had expanded to fit them all. Willow felt as if she belonged; even the people she hadn't previously known were talking to her. That, plus the fact that she and Draco were friends again, left her feeling euphoric. The only thing keeping her from grinning like a fool was Ginny's constant glances at her.

At first she thought she had something in her teeth, and had tried to discreetly scrub at them with her finger before Ginny caught her eye and shook her head, trying hard not to laugh. Willow then attempted to ignore Ginny, telling herself that her friend was just being odd, but it was difficult to concentrate on the game when she could feel a pair of eyes on her every few seconds.

She finally cracked, and when Seamus' cards exploded and everyone's attention was diverted, she looked up at Ginny.

"What's up?" she mouthed.

"I have to talk to you," Ginny mouthed back. Willow furrowed her eyebrows, confused as to what Ginny had to say to her that couldn't be said in front of everyone else, but Seamus' flaming eyebrows had been doused in water and the game was back in motion.

"This is so much better than Potions homework," Ron sighed, and a murmur of agreement sounded from around the table.

"Where's Neville at? He's missing out on the fun," Hermione frowned.

"He's probably with Luna," Seamus grinned, having already forgotten about losing half an eyebrow. He drew out the "U" sound in Luna's name in a teasing tone, and made kissy faces at Dean, who was laughing.

"Still think that's the strangest couple I've ever seen," Dean chuckled, shaking his head.

"I think they're cute," Ginny retorted, "They seem to really like each other, right, Willow?" she asked, and Willow blinked, bewildered.

"Um, er, yeah, they're totally adorable," she stammered stupidly, confused as to why Ginny made a point to ask her, specifically.

"Totally adorable," Harry repeated with a smirk, "That's a good one. I'll have to remember it," he teased, looking at Ginny. Her face flushed red to match her hair.

"Call me that and I'll be forced to show you exactly how good I am at the Bat-Bogey Hex," she scowled, putting on her tough exterior. Willow grinned to herself, remembering how dreamy and gushy Ginny had been when she spoke about Harry after their trip to the hospital wing.

"She's only kidding," Harry smiled, "She loves it when I call her-"

"HARRY," Ginny exclaimed, her cheeks reddening by the second. Everyone around the table roared with laughter, including Willow, who was grateful for the distraction from whatever Ginny wanted to tell her.

No one was paying attention, and suddenly Hermione's entire hand of cards exploded, leaving a shell-shocked expression on her face and a slightly black tinge to her skin. She blinked as everyone laughed harder, then slowly placed the charred remains of her cards on the table.

"I think I'm done for tonight," she said quietly. Ron tried to pull the tiny pieces of card from her hair, whispering helpful words, but his shoulders were shaking with contained laughter.

"I think I am, too," Parvati Patel sighed sadly, placing her cards, which were miraculously whole, down and pushing them to the center of the table, "I can only put off that Charms essay for so long,"

"She's right. I haven't even started that Herbology assignment," Seamus muttered angrily, already standing up.

Soon everyone was complaining about all the homework they had left to do, and Willow, Ginny, Ron, Harry and Hermione were the only ones left by the table. They graciously cleaned up the cards and soot from the table, Vanishing the dirt and placing the Self-Shuffling deck back in Ron's bag.

"Hermione, do you have any work to do?" Ron asked sweetly once everything was back in its place.

"Well, I was going to start my Arithmancy homework. It's due in a few days and I thought I'd get a head start…" she began, but trailed off at the saddened expression on her boyfriend's face, "What's wrong?" she asked warily.

"It's just that, the Potions homework is due tomorrow, and I was hoping you would help me. But if you're busy, I understand, of course," Ron said, feigning innocence. He put a hand on Hermione's, stroking it with his thumb, and looking at her with wide eyes.

"You're _such_ a pain," Hermione groaned, shaking his hand off, and Ron's face lit up.

"Does that mean you'll help?" he grinned.

"Yes. But I'm just _helping_. Not _doing_," she clarified.

"I'm going to bed. Can I copy, I mean, er, read over yours in the morning, Ron?" Harry asked, cowering under Hermione's glare.

"Sure thing, mate," Ron winked. Harry shot him a grateful smile, pecked Ginny on the lips and bounded up the stairs to the boys' dormitory. Ron and Hermione retreated to an empty table in the corner. Willow watched, amused, as Ron scribbled something with his quill and Hermione blabbered quickly. In less than a minute, the quill was already in her hand and she was scratching things out on the parchment, while Ron leaned back in his seat and eyed Hermione with admiration.

"Can we talk now?" Ginny said suddenly, and Willow jumped slightly.

"I have to do the Potions homework, too," she replied, avoiding Ginny's gaze and rummaging through her bag.

"It's important," Ginny said calmly, and when Willow looked up, Ginny's lips were curled into a mischievous smile.

"Should I be worried?" Willow asked warily, and Ginny chuckled.

"That depends," she said mysteriously, and stood, taking Willow by the hand, "Come with me,"

Willow followed along obediently, feeling confused and a bit suspicious, as Ginny dragged her up the stairs to the girls' dormitory. She opened the door, revealing Parvati and Lavender, who were seated on Parvati's bed and giggling about something, their Charms essays lying forgotten in their laps. They hadn't notice Willow and Ginny come in, and Lavender was whispering excitedly.

"So _then _I told him I almost got bitten by a werewolf, and he was so impressed he practically snogged my face off-"

"Ehem," Ginny cleared her throat loudly, and Parvati and Lavender looked up with wide eyes, "So sorry to interrupt you two when you're clearly hard at work, but I need to speak to Willow privately,"

Lavender and Parvati blinked at her silently.

"That's means you have to leave," Ginny clarified. The two girls frowned, but, as Ginny was rather intimidating, gathered up their belongings and leaving the room. Willow smiled at them apologetically, and they hesitantly smiled back. The door slammed behind them, and Lavender's hushed voice rose up again.

Willow listened curiously, trying to hear what Lavender was saying though she knew it was none of her business, but Ginny was staring at her expectantly. Willow turned her ear away from the door, and sighed, exasperated.

"Is this about your theory about Professor Slughorn and Madam Pomfrey again?" she asked. As Willow had been ordered to keep the spattergroit a secret, she couldn't tell Ginny what the letter and box were really about, and Ginny had constantly been bringing up little hints about the relationship she was positive was brewing between the Potions teacher and the nurse.

Willow almost broke her resolve numerous times, wishing she could just tell Ginny the truth. Listening to hushed whispers of "Look how happy he is" in Potions class while Ginny stared at Professor Slughorn with a dreamy expression on her face was something one could only take for so long.

"No, this is about you," Ginny said enigmatically, and Willow bit her lip, racking her brain to try to think of anything she could have done that would explain why Ginny was acting so strangely.

"About me," Willow repeated, and Ginny nodded gravely.

"And Malfoy," she added, and Willow froze.

The situation became much clearer. Ginny wanted to talk about _Draco_. Perhaps she wanted to talk Willow out of being friends with him. Willow had thought that the Gryffindors' acceptance had been far too convenient; it was only a matter of time before someone brought it up again, with more bitterness this time. She couldn't _really_ expect them to accept him that quickly; she had been naïve. Panic began to rise in her throat, but sank down again as Ginny began to laugh.

"Why do you look so scared?" she giggled, and Willow relaxed slightly. Her anxiety was replaced with more befuddlement.

"You're not going to tell me not to be his friend?" she asked, her eyebrows bunched together, and Ginny shook her head.

"I'm not _that _mean," she smiled, "I can't stop you from liking him," she added, and Willow read more in her tone than she would've liked. She felt her cheeks burn red; there was no way Ginny could _know_, was there? Not when Willow was barely able to convince herself…

"What is this about then?" Willow inquired, tearing her thoughts away from the feel of Draco's cool fingers intertwined with her own, from the way his lips moved when he pronounced the word "incredible", from the look in his eyes right before he fell asleep. She blushed deeper.

"How long?" Ginny blurted, and Willow blinked rapidly.

"I'm sorry?" she asked in a somewhat squeaky voice, seeing numerous possibilities for what Ginny could be referring to and not liking any of them very much.

"How long have you liked him for?" Ginny clarified.

"Oh, um, I mean, we've been friends since we were Potions partners, I guess," Willow stammered, but Ginny cut her off.

"That's not what I meant," she grinned, wiggling her eyebrows.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Willow lied through clenched teeth.

"I'm not completely thick. I can tell when someone's in _love_," she teased.

"I'm not in love," Willow said firmly, though her heart was beating at an extremely fast pace, and Ginny waved her hand.

"Love, like, whatever. Either way, you've got a thing for Draco Malfoy," she said quickly, her eyes wide and excited.

Willow stared for a few moments, debating whether she should attempt to lie herself out of the situation or just admit to Ginny what she had trouble admitting to herself.

She thought about how her palms got clammy around Draco, how her heart thudded against her chest hard enough that she was sure he could hear it, and how she had felt a surge of electricity run through her arm when Draco had taken her hand in his own.

She thought about she always felt the need to be closer to him, how she couldn't stop smiling when he was near, and how her face had flushed when she caught him staring at her.

She thought about his silvery gray eyes and his blond hair that fell in tendrils against his forehead when he was sleeping, and then she buried her face in her hands, trying to block her mind from thinking any more traitorous thoughts, and groaned.

"Bloody hell, I really _do_ have a thing for Draco Malfoy," she bemoaned. There was no use denying it any longer; she had been attempting to push it back for weeks, but still the image of his smiling face developed in her mind at the most inconvenient moments, refusing to budge no matter how hard she wanted it to go away.

"Does he like you?" Ginny asked excitedly, and Willow stared at her through the cracks between her fingers.

"You're not angry?" she asked nervously, choosing to ignore the question, and Ginny huffed.

"How many times do I have to say no? The heart wants what the heart wants, Willow, I can't be angry with you for that," she sighed, flopping down on her bed and placing a hand on her chest theatrically. She sat up again, leaning back against her elbows, and grinned, "Besides, I may think he's a prat, but there's no denying that he's fit as hell,"

"Ginny!" Willow scoffed, and Ginny laughed, laying back again and staring at the ceiling.

"Don't tell Harry I said that. He'd probably never speak to me again," she giggled, "I can't wait for you two to start dating. Then you'll finally have a boyfriend, too, and I won't have to feel bad,"

"Nice to know you feel bad for me," Willow huffed, and threw her pillow at Ginny, "Because I'm so _alone,_" Ginny caught the pillow nimbly, then sat up suddenly as if she had just thought of something

"Do you think your kids will be in Slytherin or Gryffindor? I hope Gryffindor, but he might force you to keep having them until at least one of them ends up in Slyth-"

"Ginny," Willow interrupted her, and Ginny grinned.

"Alright, so maybe it's too early to be thinking about kids,"

"It's too early to be thinking about _anything_. I don't even know if he likes me," Willow sighed.

"I'm sure he does. What's not to like?" Ginny asked.

"You flatter me," Willow said sarcastically, but she smiled, pleased.

"You know, I've heard he's a fantastic kisser," Ginny whispered, as if there was anyone to overhear, and Willow frowned at the idea of anyone else kissing Draco before she managed to shake the jealous thoughts out of her head.

"I wouldn't know," she forced herself to say calmly.

"Well, once you find out, tell me if it's true or not,"

"Why do you care?" Willow laughed in disbelief, but couldn't stop her mind from straying to the image of _herself _kissing Draco. It definitely wasn't an unpleasant vision.

"My own selfish curiosity reasons. Listen, if you do anything else with him, I'm going to need details. I know a Ravenclaw who went out with him for a bit in her fifth year, but she wouldn't tell me anything more than-"

"Alright, I think we're done with this conversation," Willow said quickly, but Ginny continued to talk.

"It was particularly satisfying to hear about considering he was doing it behind Pansy Parkinson's back. Anyone who does anything to make _her _unhappy is a friend of mine,"

"I'm leaving," Willow called out in a sing-song voice, already halfway to the door, and her hand was on the doorknob when she heard Ginny scramble out of her bed and come running after her.

"I'm done, I promise," she said solemnly, and Willow smiled, shaking her head as she opened the door and made to go back down to the common room. She froze before she took the first step down the stairs, however, because Professor McGonagall was standing in front of the portrait hole with a group of worried Gryffindors staring up at her with open mouths.

With her hand on the balustrade, Willow peered over the railing. Ginny stayed right behind her, looking stiff and perplexed. Willow didn't have to strain her ears, as Professor McGonagall had that quality about her that caused her voice to spread far distances without any effort.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that, Miss Brown, but rest assured that they will be just fine," she was saying gently.

"How long do they have to be in there for?" someone in the crowd called out.

"Just a week or so. I don't want any of you to worry, but I thought some information was better than continuing to pretend that nothing is happening," Professor McGonagall responded, looking bitter; Willow, who now had a very clear idea of what the topic of conversation was about, presumed that the teacher wasn't quite satisfied with the idea of withholding the entire truth about the situation.

With a curt nod, Professor McGonagall turned and left the common room. There was a ringing silence for a few moments, before everyone began to talk loudly, sharing ideas. Willow overheard snippets of conversations as she walked down the stairs.

"Do you think it's the basilisk?" a scared-looking first year girl asked her friend, who shook his head haughtily.

"How could it be? Harry Potter killed it," he said firmly, but the little girl didn't look convinced. Willow was reminded of when the same thought had crossed her head before Madam Pomfrey had explained the truth. She felt a bit less guilty now that she wasn't the only one who momentarily questioned Harry's accomplishments.

"Do you think it's a werewolf?" a third year boy was saying excitedly, though there was a hint of fear on his face.

"Don't be daft. You can't cure a werewolf bite in a week," another boy responded.

"Yeah, but maybe it's not biting, just maiming," the first boy argued, and Willow shook her head, walking up to Ron and Hermione, who were both looking nervous. Ron was chewing on his knuckle, and Hermione was twisting a lock of hair around her finger.

"What happened?" Ginny asked, sounding fearful, which was something Willow wasn't accustomed to hearing from her otherwise resilient friend.

"Neville and a couple of fourth years are in the hospital wing," Ron responded, looking awed.

"And those are only the Gryffindors. Luna's there, too, but Professor McGonagall didn't tell us any other names," Hermione added on, trying to untangle the knot she had created in her hair by twisting it so feverishly.

"_Neville and Luna_?" Willow and Ginny asked at the same time; Willow was just as surprised as the others, though, admittedly, she knew much more than they did. She remembered thinking of a snogging Neville and Luna when Madam Pomfrey had said that the illness was spread by fluids; for a wild moment, she imagined that it was her fault they were sick.

"And McGonagall won't say _why_?" Ginny continued incredulously, and Hermione shook her head.

"It must be serious if we're not allowed to know," she said quietly, and rested her chin on her palm, thinking.

"I'm going to see if Harry's still awake. He'll want to know about this," Ginny announced.

"Willow," Hermione said suddenly once Ginny had disappeared.

"Yes?"

"You volunteer in the hospital wing, don't you? Do you think you could find out what it is?" Hermione inquired, and Willow grimaced, feeling a surge of guilt.

"Er, yeah, I reckon I can try," she choked out, and Hermione shot her a grateful smile, "I think I'll go right now, actually," Willow added, as an excuse to escape the situation.

She turned and scurried out the portrait hole, remembering Neville's somewhat negative response to her confession about her and Draco's friendship and hoping that he hadn't made a mess of things.

**A/N: Sorry that this is updated a day later than usual, I was busy actually having a social life for once, hahha!**

**I guess I do owe you guys an explanation as to Neville's behavior, sorry about that. **

**In my mind, Neville becomes a lot tougher and much less "wimpy" in the seventh book, and I felt that, out of all the other Gryffindors, he would be the one to hold a grudge against Draco. Like, Draco was an ass to the others, too, but they were asses back to him. With Neville, it was just kind of one-way bullying, so he wouldn't forgive as easily and wouldn't believe that Draco **_**could **_**be nice to someone. I dunno, it makes more sense in my head, hahah. **

**Also, someone asked me what the OC in my other story looks like, so I decided to be a loser and make a Sim of her. I thought that while I was at it, I might as well make one for Willow, too. So there's a link in my bio if you wanna see it!**

**Sorry for the longest author's note of all time. Props to you if you actually read the whole thing.**

**Thanks for reading, and please review! :)**


	21. Decisions

Draco heard the door of the hospital wing swing open and shut again, heard hushed whispers exchanged between Madam Pomfrey and the unidentified visitor, then heard footsteps coming towards him.

They paused outside of the sheets dangling around his bed, and Draco knew suddenly that they belonged to Willow. He could _just _catch a whiff of the scent that always surrounded her; she smelled like a mixture of roses and jasmine that reminded Draco of the tea that his mother always used to drink before bed.

The aching thought of his mother brought him back to his senses, as Willow's presence had momentarily made him very un-Draco-like, with his soft eyes and dreamy expression, and he had just snapped his eyes shut when Willow pulled back the dressings and stepped inside.

He attempted to regulate his breathing, make it seem as if he really was asleep. He wondered whether he usually snored or not, something of which he was never sure, but, as he was uncertain whether he could even successfully pull off a fake snore, decided to not and hoped that his slumber seemed realistic enough.

"Draco?" he heard Willow's soft voice say, and his resolve practically broke. He screwed his eyes shut tighter, and waited with a frantically beating heart. There were a couple silent moments in which he briefly considered furthering his newfound talent in acting and pretending to wake up. He was just wondering how best to look pleasantly surprised to see Willow there upon his "awakening", when she sighed.

He heard the telltale sign of her feet shuffling closer, and struggled to maintain his regular breathing as she leaned over him. He had no way of knowing what she was doing, and pursed his lips together in wait. Before he knew what was happening, her hand was on his forehead, sweeping away the hair that always managed to fall there.

There were no longer any doubts that the same thing had happened the last time she thought he was asleep. He felt his skin burn and wished she would just leave and make things easier for the both of them. After what seemed like hours of her fingers lingering on his face, she finally pulled away and left.

Only when he was sure that the dressings had been closed behind her did Draco open his eyes again. His throat burned and his skin prickled, both symptoms of his ailment, but it didn't seem to be because of the illness at all.

It wasn't that he didn't _want _to speak to Willow. In fact, he ached to hear her voice and to hold her hand again. But the only thought that kept swimming through his head was what stupid Longbottom had said to him. If someone had told him a few years earlier that _Neville _could make him feel like a pile of dragon dung, he would have laughed.

But he wasn't laughing anymore. Neville's words rang true, no matter how difficult it was for Draco to admit to himself. Willow was fantastic; sweet, caring, sympathetic. Draco had always been the complete opposite; cold, rude, perhaps the most insensitive prat to ever roam the halls of Hogwarts.

He regretted being that way. He had been an immature child who strived to impress his father by whatever means it took, which meant that he craved power and therefore had become nothing more than a bully in order to get what he wanted. Harry Potter's refusal to accept Draco's friendship had stung on a deeper level than Draco was willing to admit, and he took out that hurt on Harry and all his friends for years.

He had thought that making fun of others would make him popular. He was somewhat right, as the other Slytherins had looked up to him like some kind of god, but it was a lonely kind of popularity. He had had followers, but not very many true friends. It tended to work that way when people feared and admired you at the same time.

Potter, on the other hand, had hundreds of people willing to _die_ for him. They admired him and _liked _him at the same time. Draco had many times wondered how his life would have been if he had started off at Hogwarts differently, but by the time he had been struck with remorse, it was too late to turn back.

He had tried to redeem himself. When the Snatchers had brought Harry and the others to the Malfoy Manor, for example, Draco had known beyond all doubt that it was indeed Harry, Ron, and Hermione that he was looking at. He lied, said he wasn't sure, to give them more time to spare themselves.

His attempts, however, were not enough. Students still feared him, and the admiration some of them originally felt was gone. He couldn't take back the way he had been before. He wished he could; he would have been nicer to Neville, for one. Perhaps then the boy wouldn't have felt the need to tell him he wasn't good enough for Willow.

And even if he had, it wouldn't be true.

But Neville _did _tell him, and it _was _true. How could a girl as innocent and goodhearted as Willow be with _Draco_?

Draco, who had flung the word "Mudblood" around as if it was simply a pleasantry as opposed to one of the most vile words in the entire Wizarding language. Draco, who had gotten the gamekeeper's hippogriff sentenced to execution just because said hippogriff had attacked him and bruised his pride. Draco, who had almost killed innocent people in his desperate attempts to fulfill his Death Eater duty; his stomach still swooped when he thought about how Katie Bell and Ron Weasley's lives had almost ended because of his own stupidity.

He was different now. He felt no need to be cruel, to taunt or tease, except when provoked, like Neville had done to him. He had learned what the most important things in life really were when his parents had risked their lives for him and then ended up in jail; being an arse wouldn't help with any of his problems. But his past was inerasable, and, as far as he knew, Willow didn't even know the worst of it. Would she even still like him if she knew all the things he had done? Would she believe him if he said that he was a changed person?

His instincts told him no. His conscience told him that he should pull away, leave her free to save herself before things went too far. He didn't want her to receive the same hateful looks in the corridors, just because she was involved with him.

It was ironic that just a short while before, he had been angry that she wouldn't tell anyone that they were friends, and now he hoped she wouldn't tell anyone else. He was thinking of her instead of himself, and it was difficult. He wanted her in his life almost as badly as he wanted his parents back.

He wasn't sure if he could convince himself to stay away from her.

* * *

Willow had thought she had seen Draco's eyes flutter closed when she walked in, as if he was only pretending to sleep to avoid her, but she told herself she was being paranoid.

She had watched him for a few moments, debating whether or not to wake him up. She wanted to talk to him, as the moments in which she was with him were her favorite moments of every day, but she put him before herself. He was ill and needed sleep.

Still, she couldn't help but have noticed that his hair had fallen onto his forehead again. The urge was too strong, and she again brushed away the stray tendrils. She marveled at their silkiness before turning to leave, filled with disappointment and rising worry that Neville had, in fact, done something regrettable.

Madam Pomfrey had pointed to the bed right besides Draco's when Willow had asked which one belonged to Neville, and she stood outside the dressings, pressing her ear to the sheets to listen for the telltale signs of sleep. She didn't hear any deep breathing, and called quietly:

"Neville, are you awake?"

"Yeah, come in," his voice called back, and she pulled the dressings apart, slipping inside and letting the sheets fall behind her.

Neville was seated upright on his bed, tossing a clear plastic ball up in the air and looking bored. He failed to catch it when he looked up to see Willow, and it dropped to the floor with a clattering noise. Willow looked nervously in the general direction of Draco's bed, though she couldn't see him, and hoped the ruckus hadn't woken him up.

"What is this?" she asked, picking the ball up and handing it back to Neville.

"A Remembrall. It glows red when I've forgotten something, but I reckon there's not much to forget when you're trapped in the hospital wing," he chuckled, though he looked slightly bitter about his predicament.

"How are you feeling?" Willow asked, her instinct to take care of others kicking in, and she sat in the empty chair next to Neville's bed.

"I feel fine. My throat hurts a bit, but I thought that was just a cold or something. Spattergroit, who would have thought, huh?" he grinned, and Willow smiled.

"Doesn't happen every day," she agreed.

"I hope I get out soon. I hate hospitals," Neville sighed, "And the thought of all the work I'm going to have to make up is terrible,"

"I'm sure the teachers will cut you some slack," Willow said reassuringly.

"Right, yeah, that'd be nice," Neville nodded, and there were a couple moments of awkward silence. Neville stared at the Remembrall in his hand, and Willow debated whether or not she should ask about Draco. Her curiosity was overbearing, but she felt bad pestering Neville when he was incapacitated.

"Listen…" she began, choosing to ask anyway, and Neville blinked up at her, "Did you-er, have you spoken with Draco lately?" she asked.

"Oh," Neville responded, looking a bit abashed, "Yeah, I had a word with him,"

"What exactly did you say?" Willow asked nervously, her heart sinking at the fact that Neville suddenly refused to look her in the eye.

"I…I don't really remember, actually, it wasn't anything important-" he stammered.

"But if you've forgotten, then why isn't your Remembrall turning red?" Willow inquired quietly, cutting off his rambling, and Neville looked down at the clear ball he was still holding before finally glancing up at her.

"So maybe we got in a bit of an argument," Neville admitted, grimacing.

"An argument about what?" Willow asked with a wince, dreading the answer.

"Well, about you," Neville sighed.

"What did you _say_?" Willow pressed, her anxiety level rising considerably.

"I, well, uh, I might have told him that he wasn't, er, good enough for you," Neville mumbled.

"Why would you do that?" Willow practically yelped, her fears confirmed, and Neville's face hardened. He took a deep breath and began to rant, his words quickening as he went along as if he was gathering steam.

"You haven't known him as long as I have, Willow. He might seem perfectly nice to you now, but he's _awful_. Some of the things he's said and done, you don't even want to know about. I used to dread being near him because of the things he would say to me. I know that you and I aren't exactly _close_, but I know you well enough to know that you're a good person, and, Willow, Malfoy's the opposite.

"I don't believe that he's changed completely. Maybe he doesn't bully anyone anymore, but I reckon he's still just as rotten on the inside. The things he's done are things that change you forever. I reckon he's a lot like his aunt Bellatrix, and she-well, she was as evil as they come.

"Even you disliked him at first because he was rude to you, remember? I swear, I wasn't planning on telling him off. But I saw him when I was here with Luna, and I just felt this surge of…of, I dunno, _determination_ and it just happened. I just didn't want to let him hurt you,"

Neville finished, looking simultaneously nervous and proud of himself. He stared at Willow, waiting for her to respond.

She blinked at him a couple times, bewildered and completely unsure what to say.

Half of her wanted to yell at him. She wanted to tell him that Draco _had _changed, that he was sweet and friendly and that Neville didn't know what he was talking about. She wanted to tell him to apologize to Draco for the things that he said and admit that Draco wasn't the person Neville thought he was. She wanted to protect Draco, stick up for him, shield him from anything hurtful.

The other half realized that that was exactly what Neville was trying to do; he wanted to protect her. It warmed her heart, especially since she hadn't considered Neville one of her closest friends, that he would go to that amount of trouble for her. No one had ever done anything of the sort for her before. Neville clearly felt nothing but pure hatred for Draco, and she couldn't help but think that Draco genuinely _was_ awful in the past.

"Thank you for looking out for me, Neville," she said finally, her voice quiet. Neville blinked, surprised, but smiled gratefully.

"You're welcome," he said brightly.

"Whether or not I want to be friends with Draco, however, is up to me," she added, and Neville's smile faltered.

"Right," he said unsurely.

"I believe you when you say he was a, er, _bully_ before, but I also believe that he _has _changed, Neville," Willow said softly.

"Right," Neville repeated, bitterly this time, "That's why when I told him Luna and I were dating, he laughed and called us Loony and Largebottom,"

"Did he?" Willow blinked, feeling a surge of uncertainty, and Neville nodded grimly.

"I respect that it's your decision to make, but I just hope you make the right one," he sighed, "Maybe you're right, and he has changed. Maybe you'll prove me wrong," he shrugged, leaning back against his pillows.

"Maybe," Willow agreed. She felt confused; she trusted Neville, but trusted Draco as well. She was almost completely convinced that Draco was different now, until Neville told her that he had made fun of him and Luna. That kind of taunting sounded exactly like the type of person the Gryffindors had said Draco used to be.

In Draco's defense, Neville had provoked him with his words, but it still wasn't a reasonable excuse for the rudeness of calling someone. If what Neville had said was true, which Willow had little doubt it was, then Draco had acted exactly like an immature bully, which was what she had truly hoped he wasn't.

"You look like you're tired. I'll let you sleep," she said finally, standing up.

"Oh, alright then. Goodnight," Neville answered uncertainly, a bit taken aback by Willow's sudden desire to leave.

"Goodnight," she repeated, shooting him one last confused look before leaving. She stood outside his sheets and stared at the ones surrounding Draco's bed. She placed one foot forward, but the other stayed locked in place as she hesitated. On impulse, she continued and swept aside the dressings around Draco again.

Her eyes dropped to the chair next to his pillow, but she opted to stay standing. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at Draco, who was still sleeping, her mind whirling.

Pleasant memories of Draco filled her brain: when he smiled at her joke for the first time in the Potions classroom, when he told her he wanted to be her friend, when he was staring at her in the corridor, when he told her that no one else had managed to make him laugh as much as she did, when he held her hand and called her "incredible".

All those thoughts made her heart soar, but it sank back into her stomach when the nice memories were replaced with much worse ones: when he had acted cold and unfeeling when they first met, when he showed up late to the library and didn't even bother to apologize, when he caught her looking at his arm and told her to leave him alone, when he was angry with her for not telling her friends about him and threatened to hex her.

She had no idea what to think. Draco seemed sweet and kind _now, _but the other side of him was still present somewhere. She hated the fact that he was capable of being so unpleasant, and couldn't help but think that that side of him would come out again if they continued to spend time with each other. It was only a matter of time before she did something to anger him again.

But then again, everyone had a bad side. Even she had snapped once, that time in the library where she had been cold and rude to Draco. Neville had seemed a bit ashamed of his argument with Draco, which led Willow to believe that he was withholding parts that made _him_ look bad.

And Draco had plenty of reason to be unhappy. He was a former Death Eater, a title that would follow him for the rest of his life, the majority of Hogwarts students seemed to refuse to look at him, whether out of fear or dislike she wasn't sure, and he had lost the two most important people in his life.

On the other hand, she had reasons to be upset in the past as well, and she had never acted the way he had. She switched schools all the time and was alone more often than not. She lasted months in foreign countries with absolutely no friends, and was sometimes taunted because she was different than everyone else. Never, however, had she been rude to anyone who did talk to her or try to help her.

Everything was so confusing. Part of her told her to run and never look behind her, to forget about Draco no matter how difficult it would be, so she could protect herself from being hurt. It would also hurt her to leave him behind, but she would move on eventually, and it would be for the better.

But she kept thinking about how electrifying it felt to hold his hand and how unbelievably _happy _she was when she was with him. She had gone to so much trouble to earn his friendship, and for what? Just to throw it all away?

There was also the fact that he seemed to need her. _Really _need her. She was the reason he had changed from the unfeeling person he was in the beginning of the year. She had to think of him, as well, not just of herself. Abandoning him would hurt him just as much as it would hurt her, if not more.

She couldn't stop being his friend. She told herself it was because she was putting his needs before her own, but, really, she needed him, too.

Looking at Draco tenderly, she sighed deeply. He shifted slightly, and, for a moment, she thought he might wake.

When he didn't move again, she turned on her heel and left.

**A/N: To Kate, since you're a guest and I can't PM you, my explanation as to why nobody can know about the spattergroit was that the Headmaster doesn't want to cause a panic. My reasoning was that Hogwarts had obviously been through a lot and there were a lot of instances in which parents freaked out and wanted to bring their kids home, and nobody wanted that to happen again. Hopefully that makes some sense, ha!**

**Please review! :)**


	22. Try

Draco was on edge all day.

Every time he heard the door to the hospital wing open, his whole body tensed. When Madam Pomfrey pulled apart the sheets around his bed to check on him, his heart starting beating faster, then practically stopped beating altogether in disappointment when he saw that it was the nurse visiting him and not the person he was hoping for.

But hours passed, in which Draco did all he could to distract himself. He even managed to finish an entire book, even though he had to read almost every page twice, and Willow _still _hadn't showed up. Blaise had visited, but Draco was so noticeably distracted that Blaise mistook his strange behavior as fatigue and left almost as soon as he came.

Draco had, of course, heard the entire conversation between her and Longbottom. The hospital wing had been practically silent except for the sound of their voices, and they hadn't spoken all that quietly; Draco hadn't even had to strain his ears to be able to listen in.

The conversation didn't do much to lift his spirits. He had been excited, yes, and hopeful when Willow had told Neville that whether or not she was friends with Draco was her own choice. Draco had even detected a hint of antagonism in her voice at Neville's accusations, though that might have been his overeager imagination.

But then Longbottom just _had _to mention the names that Draco had called him and Luna. Draco felt ashamed and remorseful, wishing he had been able to keep his mouth shut, but was also filled with a sense of bitterness when he thought about how Neville had conveniently left out the part about punching Draco straight in the nose. He hardly doubted Willow would have appreciated _that _information.

She hadn't learned it, however, and all signs pointed to Draco being the villain in the situation. He could remember the disappointment in Willow's voice clearly, how she had said "Did he?" with such disgruntlement that it made his stomach twist.

All his worries that she couldn't see past the way he used to be had been worsened by those two words, and he had been so stricken with anxiety that he couldn't even bring himself to speak to her when she came back to him. He had just lain there silently, feeling her penetrating gaze on his skin and resisting the urge to call out to her when she turned to leave without the usual hand on his forehead.

He had never been in this kind of situation. Never before had a _girl_ left him feeling so vulnerable; he didn't even know how he would react if they really did go their separate ways, but he knew it would be messy and unpleasant. The confusion was unbelievable; the half of him that didn't feel good enough wanted to instigate the split, but the other half, the half that hoped that she thought he was worthy, hated the thought of it.

All he really wanted now was to talk to her, which was just as confusing considering he had refused to even open his eyes when she had been by him the night before.

He gave up on trying to read the second book that Madam Pomfrey had brought him, closing it shut angrily and throwing it carelessly onto his bedside table. He hadn't realized that girls could be so much _trouble;_ if he had any idea what kind of feelings Willow would make him possess, he would have dropped to his knees andbegged Slughorn to give him a different Potions partner.

There had been girls before, sure. During his third, fourth, fifth, and even sixth year, before things started going downhill in terms of his mental state, he had admittedly been a bit of a ladies man. He saw plenty of girls, mostly just to have someone to snog in the common room every evening, even cycling back around to Pansy Parkinson so many times it was a wonder she kept agreeing to it.

But he had always been the one to decide when relationships began and ended; it was part of the little "power" scheme he had had going on, his thirst to have control over people. There had been broken hearts, but never his own, so the strain on his heart now was something he didn't know what to do about.

The thought of being with other girls, when he was so close to having Willow, seemed ridiculous and, frankly, a bit disgusting. Pansy in particular; she was much too touchy-feely for his taste, and a horrid kisser. Slobbery, even, but he kept going back because she worshipped him more than anyone. He couldn't even imagine himself with her _now_; the image of it almost made the pumpkin juice he had just downed make a second appearance.

"Are you awake, Mr. Malfoy?" Madam Pomfrey's voice called quietly from outside his little cubicle, interrupting Draco from his thoughts.

"Yes, ma'am," he called back politely, though he was scowling, certain that the nurse was bringing him more of the vile potion he had to drink.

Sure enough, when Madam Pomfrey pulled apart the dressings and bustled inside, she was carrying the small bottle in one hand and a goblet in the other as always.

"Just a couple more days," Madam Pomfrey smiled apologetically, noticing the queasy look on Draco's face. She tapped the bottle with her wand, and it began to pour its lumpy contents into the empty goblet. Before it had gotten time to finish, however, a pale and wide-eyed figure appeared at the foot of Draco's bed.

"Madam Pomfrey?" Luna breathed, and the nurse, who hadn't heard Luna's silent feet, jumped, narrowly missing hitting the tilted bottle with her outstretched hand.

"Miss Lovegood," Madam Pomfrey attempted to say sternly, but her voice took on more of a slightly surprised tone, "You're supposed to be in your own bed,"

"I know, ma'am, but I wanted to speak to Draco quickly, before you give him his potion," Luna said calmly, rocking back and forth on the balls of her bare feet with her hands behind her back.

Draco blinked at her, amazed that the girl had called him by his first name and that she wanted to talk to _him _when they had hardly had any prior contact. He wondered briefly if she, too, wanted to tell him off for spending time with Willow; Neville was her boyfriend, after all, as strange as the concept was.

"Er, well," Madam Pomfrey hesitated, clearly just as confused as Draco, "Is that alright with you, Mr. Malfoy?" she asked finally, and Draco nodded, overtaken by curiosity.

"It'll be quick," Luna assured. Madam Pomfrey nodded unsurely, then left, leaving Draco Malfoy alone with Luna Lovegood for the first time in his life.

"Um, have a seat," Draco offered, uncertain as to what he should say, and gestured towards the chair next to his bed.

"Thank you," Luna responded, and lowered herself onto the seat.

Her hair was so long that Draco thought it was a miracle she didn't accidentally sit on it; she seemed to think the same thing, because she began to braid it silently. Draco, unsure whether he should watch or stare at his lap instead, both of which were awkward options, decided to look at a random spot behind her head instead.

"Is there a Blibbering Humdinger back there?" Luna asked after she had finished her hair, and looked around, waving her hands in the air.

"Er, no," Draco said, and she relaxed visibly.

"We're immune now anyway," she shrugged, and Draco nodded, hiding a smile and deciding it would be best to not question the girl about what exactly a Blibbering Humdinger _was_; something told him he didn't really want to know.

"So what did you want to talk to me about?" Draco inquired hesitantly, and Luna's face grew solemn, a look that was bizarre compared to her usual dreamy expression.

"About Willow," she said, and peered at Draco so closely it was if she could see inside of his brain.

"Right," Draco shifted uncomfortably, and her eyes narrowed slightly, though they were so large that, when narrowed, it only made them appear normal sized.

"You're very upset. You're thinking about breaking up with Willow for her own good," Luna announced, and Draco frowned.

"How did you know that?" he asked, wondering if Luna was a Seer or something else along those lines; her silvery hair and whimsical demeanor did remind him of the childhood stories about prophets that his mother used to read to him. He suddenly realized what Luna's exact words were, and added, a bit too quickly, "And we're not dating,"

"Not yet," Luna said enigmatically, her eyes wide again.

"Are-" Draco began, but Luna interrupted him.

"I'm not a Seer, Draco," she giggled, though she hardly seemed convincing as she had just answered his unasked question, "I'm just highly perceptive,"

"Oh," Draco said stupidly.

"You do want to break up with Willow for her own good, correct?" Luna pressed.

"We're not dating so I can't break up with her," Draco repeated, "And I hardly think it's any of your business," he concluded, as kindly as he could, as he didn't want Willow to have another reason to dislike him.

"Oh, I know it's not," Luna agreed, "I just thought I'd offer you some advice. I'm quite clever, you know,"

"I'm sure you are," Draco responded, struggling to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

"I don't think you should do it," Luna continued, as if he hadn't said anything at all.

"And _I_ don't think-wait, what?" Draco asked, bewildered by the unanticipated statement.

"Don't break up with Willow," Luna said in a surprisingly commanding tone.

"_Why_?" Draco demanded, giving up on correcting Luna's word choice.

"Because Neville's wrong,"

"I beg your pardon?"

"You _have _changed. Plus you mean a lot to Willow, and she means a lot to you," Luna smiled softly.

"I-I don't understand," Draco stammered, "How could you possibly know that?"

"I told you," Luna said, though she didn't sound the least bit exasperated, "I'm highly perceptive,"

"But Neville-"

"Neville's still angry with the old you. But the old you is gone. This is the new you. But Neville doesn't know that. Do you understand?" Luna explained sweetly.

"Why do you _care_?" Draco asked incredulously.

"I just think that people who belong together should be together," Luna giggled again, and stood up, undoing her braid so that her hair flowed out behind her and made her look even more eccentric. Draco stared at her in awe, completely unable to speak, "Take my advice. I'll talk to Neville. He'll come around,"

Before Draco had a chance to open his mouth and say anything, whether it be "Thanks" or "You're completely nutty", she turned on her bare heel and walked away. The second she was gone, Madam Pomfrey came hustling back in, holding a full goblet of Healing potion.

"We're slightly behind schedule now, so drink this quickly," she said, thrusting the cup towards Draco. He grabbed it with trembling fingers, gulping it down as fast as he could without causing himself nausea, "Very good," Madam Pomfrey said appreciatively, and disappeared without another word, leaving Draco alone in his bafflement.

He was even more confused than before, something he hadn't thought would be possible. His first thought was that Luna's nickname was "Loony" for good reason; there was no way she could possibly know anything about his or Willow's feelings for each other. He wondered crazily if she had been following them around and listening in to their conversations; she walked so silently it was as if she floated, which would explain why they didn't notice her.

That wouldn't explain how she knew that he was considering breaking off contact with Willow, though. He thought then that perhaps Luna was a Legilimens, but he couldn't think of a reason as to why she would choose his mind to invade if she was. Besides, he highly doubted she was skilled enough to perform without looking him straight in the eyes, and the only time they had looked at each other was the day she and Neville arrived at the hospital wing. And that was only for a split second.

He dismissed the idea, especially because he was so good at Occlumency, and begrudgingly accepted the fact that she was indeed "highly perceptive". He scowled, wondering when he had become so easily readable, but the scowl disappeared when the meaning of Luna's words sank in.

She didn't even know him, and she thought he had changed. Didn't that mean that Willow, who, lately, knew him better than anyone, would see it as well? It was slightly difficult to admit, but Luna had actually managed to make him feel better, despite his initial reaction in which he thought she was off her rocker.

He didn't have much time to dwell on the thought, as the effects of the potion were beginning to take over and his eyes were drooping considerably, but, as he began to fell asleep, a smile appeared on his lips.

* * *

"Hey," a soft voice said the second he woke. He sat up suddenly at the view of Willow sitting next to his bed, his heart thudding rapidly even though he still felt dull with sleep.

"Hi," he breathed, and she gave him a small smile.

"Sorry I didn't come earlier," she said quietly, looking abashed.

"What time is it?" Draco asked, tearing his eyes away from Willow's face and realizing it was darker in the room than usual.

"Around eleven," she bit her lip, looking even guiltier.

"_Eleven_? But how-" Draco began, but Willow shifted in her seat and Draco's gaze travelled to the top of a silvery cloak sticking out of her pocket, "Ah,"

"You know about the cloak?" Willow asked, confused.

"Everyone knows about the cloak," Draco chuckled.

"Harry let me borrow it because I was complaining that I missed my chance to visit you," Willow whispered, and Draco felt a hint of pleasant surprise at Potter's kindness.

"Why didn't you come earlier then?" Draco asked, attempting to keep his voice level, but his tone betrayed his hurt.

"I-" Willow began, but paused, looking scared, at the sound of someone stirring in their bed.

"_Muffliato_," Draco whispered, his hand clutched around his wand, and Willow looked simultaneously relieved and embarrassed.

"I don't know why I didn't think of that," she shook her head.

"It's late," Draco shrugged, and Willow looked at him with wide eyes.

"I should have come earlier," she sighed.

"You were thinking about your conversation with Neville, right?" Draco asked hesitantly, and Willow's face slackened in surprise before taking on the same ashamed look it had before.

"You heard that?" she said apologetically, and Draco nodded solemnly in response, "Don't be upset with me," she begged, her eyes sad.

"I'm not upset," Draco said softly, "At least not with you,"

"With who, then?" Willow inquired.

"With myself," Draco shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Don't," Willow said even quieter.

"I'm sorry for all the times I've been an arse to you, and to everyone else," Draco shook his head, and Willow grabbed his hand suddenly, holding it in her own tightly. Her skin was just as smooth as before, and Draco, despite the situation, couldn't stop himself from stroking the side of her hand with his thumb.

"You're-" Willow began, her voice squeaky, and she cleared her throat, "You're different now, I know you are,"

"You do?" Draco asked stupidly, unable to say anything else, and Willow nodded.

"I'm not going to question you anymore," Willow began, "I-" she started to say, but bit her tongue and looked embarrassed. She stared down at their intertwined fingers, and didn't move when Draco pulled away. He hesitantly held out his hand, putting a finger under her chin and lifting her face up to look at him again. Her eyes were wide, and her breathing seemed unnatural; Draco figured he was acting exactly the same way, as he wasn't entirely sure what he was doing.

"You what?" he urged, dropping his hand reluctantly. She blinked a few times.

"I'm glad we're friends," she smiled feebly, and Draco's stomach turned.

"Oh," he said, sounding deflated. He dropped back against his pillows. Willow blinked again.

"Draco?" she asked, noticing his strange behavior, "What's wrong?"

"I thought you were going to say something else," he shrugged, staring at the ceiling to avoid her gaze.

"Something like what?" she pressed, and Draco closed his eyes, battling within himself. He could lie himself out of the situation, or he could take a risk. He was almost certain she liked him the same way he liked her, but there was the slight chance he was mistaken. He couldn't imagine the mortification if he said something and Willow gave him an unwanted response, not to mention how it could affect their friendship. Perhaps there would _be _no friendship.

He opened his eyes again, looking at Willow. She was staring at him in seemingly nervous anticipation; her eyes were even darker than usual, her eyebrows etched together, her lips parted. She was leaning close to him, too, so close that the scent of rose and jasmine enveloped him completely. Maybe that was what clouded his judgment, but he decided suddenly to take a leap of faith.

"I thought you were going to say you like me," he whispered, and Willow froze.

"I-I do like you. You're one of the best friends I've ever-" she began, her voice shaking, but Draco interrupted her.

"You know what I mean, Willow," he shook his head, his heart pounding so fast he wouldn't be surprised if it managed to push its way out of his chest completely.

"Oh," Willow breathed, still frozen in place.

"I was hoping you were going to say that," Draco continued, "Because I like you,"

There was a moment of silence in which Draco's palms went clammy, his head began to swim, and his heart sank in the depths of his stomach, which was twisting so quickly he thought he might be sick. Never before had he been so _nervous _to tell a girl he was interested in her, but now he thought that if Willow didn't say anything within ten seconds, he might explode.

Ten seconds passed, then twenty, then a full half of a minute, and still Willow was silent, though her mouth was opening and closing like a fish. Miraculously, Draco didn't actually explode, but he could feel his face reddening.

"Say something," he pleaded, and, finally, to his utter relief, Willow grinned.

"_Draco_," she exclaimed, and, before he knew what was happening, she was leaning forward and wrapping her arms around his neck, her face buried into his shoulder. He felt himself relax completely, and embraced her back, pressing his cheek into her sweet-smelling hair and closing his eyes.

All too soon, it was over and she was pulling away, but the expression on her face was almost as good as hugging her; she was absolutely glowing, and it was a ravishing look on her. Her eyes were bright and her smile wide, and her cheeks had a pleasant flush.

Draco felt himself beaming, but his grin soon dissolved into a solemn look, and Willow, mimicking his expression, scowled.

"What's wrong?" she asked, pushing the hair off his forehead. Draco reveled in the touch that he loved so much, but shook his head.

"I'm not good enough for you, Willow," he forced himself to say, ignoring Luna's advice. To his surprise, Willow grew angry.

"Don't say that," she frowned.

"But-"

"Stop being so thick and just go with it for once, alright?" she cut him off, looking at him through narrowed eyes.

"Alright," Draco agreed weakly, cowering under her glare. The furious look was gone almost as soon as it had appeared, and Willow was smiling again.

"Just admit that you're a good guy now, Draco Malfoy," she whispered, leaning closer to him.

Draco felt himself unconsciously lean forward as well. He was drawn in by her dark hair that was cascading around her shoulders, by her long eyelashes that were brushing against her cheeks, by her lips, which were again parted again and looking, something which he was noticing for the first time, unbelievably soft.

Completely forgetting where he was and what he was doing there, he continued to inch forward until his lips were only centimeters from hers. He could hear her breathe in sharply, could feel the warmth radiating off her skin, and he was leaning until his mouth was closing in on...

Nothing.

His eyes snapped open, and Willow was suddenly much farther away from him then she was before. She was staring at him apologetically, shaking her head slightly.

"I'm sorry," Draco mumbled, humiliated, his head still so muddled that he was unaware of his surroundings. All he could see was the look on her face, and he didn't like it.

"We can't," she said quietly, and Draco nodded, trying not to let the gut-crushing disappointment he was feeling show on his face.

"Right, I understand," he responded, looking away.

"It's not because I don't want to," she continued, and, startlingly, she sounded amused. Draco looked up again to see a faint smile on her lips, "Look where we are, Draco. I care about you a lot, but not enough to get spattergroit," she smiled.

"Oh!" Draco exclaimed, remembering how the disease he had momentarily forgotten he even had was spread. He laughed suddenly, feeling both extreme relief and incredible elation.

"I think I'd better go," Willow said suddenly, taking him by surprise. She stood up, avoiding his gaze.

"What? Why?" Draco asked, bewildered and his previous feeling of joy was replaced with a considerably more upsetting one, "I don't want you to go," he added, softer.

"I don't want to go either, but it's getting late. I'll come see you tomorrow, I promise," she said, but she still wasn't looking at him. She was turned towards the exit, already closer to the dressings around his bed than she was to him, but she turned back around and rushed towards him. She quickly placed a kiss on his forehead, and, without another word, disappeared.

Draco placed a hand on his skin where her lips had been, grinned to himself, and thought that the kiss, though different than what he had had in mind, was definitely good enough for him.

**A/N: God, I love Luna. **

**So bad news is that I only have two more chapters planned after this one. But I guess that's also good news because this will be the first fanfic that I have ever finished! Ever!**

**Also, I'd like to say that I don't think Draco is the most insensitive prat to ever walk the halls of Hogwarts, either, but when I wrote that, I was writing it from his point of view. As in, he thought that about himself. I personally think he's plenty sensitive. It's part of the reason why I adore him! ;)**

**Thanks for your reviews, they always make my day. :)))**


	23. Time

Willow wanted to keep her promise, but, as the next day rolled on, finding time to visit Draco in the hospital wing became increasingly difficult.

If there was one thing she never did, it was oversleep. In fact, she was chosen by the other girls in her dormitory to get them all out of bed, as she was always the first up. Even Hermione, usually so keen to have as much time for work as possible, cherished every moment of slumber she could get and shrugged off Willow's hand an average of three times every morning before finally succumbing to Willow's attempts to wake her.

At this point in the school year, the other girls didn't even bother to set their alarms. Willow, always so desperate to help others, had no objection to acting as the girls' own personal alarm clock after hers trilled from her bedside table.

But the morning after her trip to the hospital wing, Willow's alarm decided it no longer felt any desire to go off. As Willow and the rest of the seventh year Gryffindor girls slept through breakfast, it continued to sit on her nightstand, motionless and silent.

Willow, whose inner clock started to go haywire just as most other students began to file out of the Great Hall after a satisfying breakfast, stirred feebly in her bed before blinking rapidly against the sunlight streaming through the window. She cast a quick glance through narrowed eyes at the rogue clock, and gaped, confused, at its hands, which seemed to be saying that they only had ten minutes to get to class.

She sat up, grabbed the clock, and stared at its face, realizing that what it was saying was true.

"_Shit_," she exclaimed loudly, and Parvati, who had been mumbling nonsense in her sleep, sprang awake, sitting upwards.

"Wha's goin' on?" she mumbled, disoriented, and Lavender opened her eyes in the bed besides Parvati's.

"Is it time for breakfast?" Lavender asked happily, sleepily nuzzling into her pillow.

"No, it's time for _class_," Willow said in a slightly panicky tone, and Lavender and Parvati both yelped; Willow jumped out of bed and rushed over to Hermione's. She shook the girl's shoulders slightly harder than usual, and Hermione was grumbling under her breath as Willow moved on to Ginny's bed, poking her in the cheek to wake her.

"Why is your finger in my face?" Ginny asked calmly, her eyes still closed.

"Because we have approximately seven minutes to get to class," Lavender called in response from where she was attempting to pull up her pant leg, hopping in place ridiculously.

"_What_?" Hermione exclaimed, practically falling out of bed and rushing to get her robes on, "Oh, no, we can't be late,"

"Wake up," Willow hissed to Fay, who was refusing to get out of bed, "My alarm didn't go off, we're late,"

"We're going to have to miss breakfast," Ginny said sadly from her perch on the floor where she was pulling her socks on, and her stomach grumbled to prove her point.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what happened," Willow pouted, picking up her clock and hitting it with her palm a couple of times. The minute hand moved with a small ticking noise, "It seems to be working fine now,"

"Maybe you just forgot to set it last night," Parvati tried to shrug nonchalantly, but she sounded a bit bitter that Willow was the reason for her inevitable tardiness to Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"That's impossible," Willow said defensively, but she paused to think. She had been overwhelmed with emotion the previous night, and her feelings were so strong she could barely remember what had happened. All she recalled was practically floating up the stairs to the dormitories and getting into bed with a wide smile on her face. She could have sworn she set the alarm before she drifted off to sleep, but her brain didn't seem to be able to conjure up any images of her doing so.

"It doesn't matter now, what matters is that we have to go," Hermione said, already fully dressed and standing by the door. She hadn't brushed her hair, and it was even more unruly than usual, sticking up in every direction . That, paired with the worried look in her eye, made her appear slightly crazed.

Ginny spit out the remaining toothpaste in her mouth and wiped her lips with the back of her hand, Fay managed to shove her hand through the sleeve of her robe, which she had been having trouble with in her half-asleep state of mind, Parvati finished tying up the laces on her sneakers, and Lavender spritzed herself with what seemed like half of a perfume bottle.

"Are you trying to suffocate someone?" Fay coughed, choking on the cloyingly sweet fumes wafting through the air.

"I didn't have time to take a shower," Lavender sniffed.

"Willow, why aren't you dressed?" Ginny asked, and Willow looked down to see that, in the chaos of waking everyone else up, she had completely forgotten to get ready herself.

"Three minutes," Hermione said impatiently, tapping her foot.

"You lot go on without me. I don't want you to be late because of me," Willow waved her hand, deciding it would be better if she alone showed up tardy as opposed to the whole lot of them.

"Are you sure? I can stay behind with you," Ginny offered, but Willow waved her off.

"No, really, go on,"

"_Two minutes!"_

"Alright, Willow, we'll see you in class then," Ginny called over her shoulder as Hermione took her by the hand and began to drag her in the direction of the stairs.

Willow rummaged through her clothes as quickly as possible, pulling on the first sweater she found and the pair of jeans lying at the foot of her bed. There was a suspicious stain on the knee, but, lacking time, she pulled them on anyway. Socks, shoes, and robes went on next, and, dressed messily but completely, she grabbed her book bag and ran out the door.

She was halfway across the common room when the strap on her bag broke, and her books went flying in numerous directions.

"You have _got _to be kidding me," she grumbled to herself, dropping to her knees and pulling all of her school supplies towards her, shoving them back in her bag, which she mended with a quick "Reparo". She then siphoned the spilt ink off the rug on the common room floor and put it back inside her bottle after repairing the broken glass, but not before she managed to nick her finger one of the ragged shards.

Sucking the blood off of her hand, she stole a quick glance at the clock on the wall and noticed with an exasperated sigh that she was now five minutes late for class. Bitterly wondering why her luck had decided to turn on her, she angrily pulled the strap of her bag back on her shoulder and rose to her feet.

It wasn't that she was upset about missing breakfast, or even about being late for class, at least not _that _much. What was _really _irking her was the fact that she was planning on missing breakfast anyway to pay Draco a quick visit before class.

She already couldn't go during their lunch period, as she had promised Ginny days in advance that she would go to the library with her to work on their Herbology essays together. She wasn't about to blow off plans with one of her friends for another, even if the latter was perhaps developing into something more than a friend.

Though slightly frazzled about having to walk into class late and have everybody stare at her, Willow was smiling to herself as the door to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom came into view. She was remembering how Draco had told her he liked her, how he had tried to kiss her.

It had taken every ounce of self-control she possessed to keep herself from surrendering to his attempts, to lean in and kiss him back. The only reason she had refrained was that she reckoned ending up in the hospital wing herself just as he was about to get out wouldn't be the greatest way to start off their new relationship.

Maybe it was for the best that she hadn't been able to go visit him before class. Maybe her self-control wouldn't have been able to save her for the second time.

"Miss Prim, would you mind explaining why you are almost ten minutes late?" Professor Ravensdale, a stern and proper man who very clearly dyed his hair black to cover the gray hairs already beginning to reappear on the crown of his head, said from the front of the classroom as Willow slid through the doorway and attempted to slip into her seat without being noticed.

"Sorry, Professor, I overslept," Willow winced, standing frozen on the side of the class and burning under the gaze of all the students in the room, who were happy for a distraction from Professor Ravensdale's endless lecturing.

"Ah, well, perhaps a detention will keep you from making that mistake again," Professor Ravensdale said, and nodded curtly towards Willow's seat, "Sit,"

"Yes, sir," Willow grumbled under her breath, obliging, and sank as far down into her chair as she could. Ginny gave her an apologetic look.

"He's almost as horrid as Umbridge," Harry muttered from Ginny's other side.

"You could have woken us up," Ginny shot back quietly as Ravensdale cleared his throat and continued his lecture on erklings, which no one was listening to as they had already learned about the elfish creatures in their fourth year.

"I _told _you, we never have figured out how to get up to your dormitories. Besides, we reckoned you had decided to skip breakfast on purpose," Ron's voice piped up from behind Harry.

"Trust me, it wasn't on purpose," Ginny said bitterly, but her face brightened suddenly as she leaned down to rummage through her rucksack, emerging with a bag of Liquorice Wands, "I completely forgot I still had these. Want one?" she asked Willow, offering her the bag, but Willow shook her head.

"No, thank you, I hate liquorice," Willow wrinkled her nose.

"Suit yourself," Ginny shrugged, and attempted to discreetly bite off the end of the one of the wands, hiding it under her desk each time Ravensdale's gaze swept over the corner of the room in which they sat.

Everyone went silent, lost in their own thoughts to distract themselves from the professor's droning voice. Willow leaned her chin on her palm, thinking of when she could possibly find the time to go see Draco.

There wasn't enough time in between classes. Lunch was already out of the question because of her promise to Ginny. Dinner couldn't be skipped as it was the only meal she would have all day. Ravensdale was inevitably going to give her a detention that evening. And she didn't think going after hours again was a good idea. The night before, after a series of events that involved a trick step, a tangled cloak and a cat's tail, Willow had just narrowly avoided being caught by Filch.

Her only choice was to go in between her last class and dinner, which was when she usually worked on homework. She would just have to stay up a bit later than usual to complete all her assignments, but it was a sacrifice she was willing to make.

After what seemed like hours of half-listening to the teacher's babbling, the bell rang. Willow was attempting to pack up her belongings when Ravensdale called out to her.

"Miss Prim, if I could have a word with you," he said, not lifting his head from where he was seated at his desk and poring over a stack of papers.

"Hope you don't have to wash trophies," Ron grimaced, "It's awful,"

"Not as bad as carving lines into your hand," Harry shook his head, lifting his fist to show the faint scars across his knuckles.

"It'll be fine," Willow sighed, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder and bidding her friends farewell before making her way over to the front of the room, "You wanted to see me, Professor?" she asked sweetly, and Ravensdale looked up at her.

"Ah, yes, detention," he nodded, pushing the papers he had been looking at out of the way and folding his hands on the desk, "Be here right after dinner to help me grade tests. We should be finished by ten,"

"_Ten_?" Willow gaped, "But, sir, all I did was show up late, I hardly think three hours of detention-"

"I can make it four," Ravensdale cut her off with a sharp look, "I don't tolerate tardiness,"

"Of course, Professor," Willow responded bitterly, "But how am I going to get back to my common room? I'm not allowed to be out past nine,"

"I will escort you back," Ravensdale said, and Willow almost groaned out loud at the prospect of having to be walked back to the Gryffindor tower by the horrid teacher.

"Yes, sir. Is that all?" Willow forced herself to say politely, and Ravensdale dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

Willow scowled as she strode towards the door, wondering if her luck could get any worse.

* * *

"_Finally_," Ginny breathed just as their lunch period was coming to an end, and she rolled up her completed essay before leaning back in her chair with relief, "I'm starving. Do you reckon we could make it to the Great Hall in time to grab something to eat?"

"We can try," Willow shrugged. She was feeling a bit hungry, though the twisting in her stomach might have been a result of the anticipation of her impending detention.

She hardly ever got in trouble, as she normally abided by all rules to avoid drawing unnecessary attention to herself. She had only had a couple other detentions in her life; one for getting in a duel with a girl in Egypt, though it was mostly one-sided. The girl had attacked Willow for stealing her quill, which she hadn't; she was often blamed for things she didn't do, as students seemed to be quick to assume the worst about the new girl they didn't know or trust.

Of course, just as Willow jinxed the girl in an attempt to defend herself, the teacher had walked in. Both Willow and the other half of the "competitors" were given a week's worth of detention. Spending every night in an empty classroom with the girl was one of the worst things Willow had ever had to do.

However, grading tests with Ravensdale for three hours could easily be much worse, especially since it was cutting into the time she could be spending with Draco. She ached to see him again, and her fingers practically itched to intertwine with his. They had held hands so many times now that it seemed almost natural now, though the feeling was no less incredible.

"You coming?" Ginny said, standing up and stretching, "We don't have much time if we're going make it down to the Great Hall before Herbology,"

"Yeah, let's go," Willow said absent-mindedly, scurrying along behind Ginny as the girl rushed towards the library exit. They walked in silence, aside from Ginny's occasional stomach rumblings, and didn't slacken their quick pace until they reached the large doors of the Great Hall, which students were filing out of on their way to their afternoon classes.

Ginny practically sprinted to the Gryffindor table, and let out an audible sigh of relief at the sight of the food still on the platters. Right after she managed to grab a sandwich, the food disappeared, leaving Willow empty-handed.

"That's rotten luck," Ginny said sympathetically, looking at Willow.

"I'm starting to get used to it," Willow sighed, staring enviously at the suddenly delicious-looking sandwich in Ginny's hand.

"Want some?" Ginny asked reluctantly, but brightened visibly when Willow shook her head.

"It's yours," Willow urged, and Ginny shrugged, biting into her food.

"On the bright side, at least we finished the Herbology essay! I'm just glad I got the Potions one done earlier, or I'd be up all night," she exclaimed, her cheeks still stuffed with chewed-up bits of sandwich.

"What Potions essay?" Willow asked incredulously, more concerned with the fact that she couldn't recall doing any assignment for the class within the past few days than with the fact that Ginny was speaking with her mouth full and therefore giving Willow a nauseating view of soggy bread.

"The one Slughorn assigned a few days ago, remember? It's due tomorrow,"

"Oh, bloody _hell_," Willow cried, remembering the incomplete assignment sitting somewhere near the foot of her bed, "How am I supposed to get that done? Potions is our first class tomorrow, and I've got detention with Ravensdale tonight,"

"Ask him if you can do it some other night," Ginny offered, and Willow shook her head quickly.

"There's no way he'd ever be that nice," she complained, grasping her forehead with her hand, "How could I be so _stupid_?"

"Everyone forgets things sometimes," Ginny said reassuringly, "You'll just have to do it before dinner,"

"I was going to go see Draco before dinner," Willow sighed.

"Slughorn will give you a detention if you don't turn it in. I reckon you don't want another of those," Ginny pointed out. Willow buried her face in her hands and let out an incomprehensible noise, to which Ginny chuckled quietly in response, "You can go see your _boyfriend_ tomorrow," she teased.

"He's not my boyfriend," Willow responded, lifting her head to reveal her suddenly red cheeks.

"Not yet," Ginny winked, "Now come on. We'll be late for Herbology,"

* * *

Detention was even more terrible that Willow thought it would be.

Her hand started cramping after only half an hour of scribbling all over students' papers in red ink, and after the full three hours, she thought she might never feel her fingers ever again. The answer key Ravensdale had given her would inevitably be embedded in her mind forever; she had glanced at it so many times that, after the first hour, she had it completely memorized.

It didn't help that she was thinking about Draco the entire time, and about how disappointed he undoubtedly was that she had never showed up. She could only hope that he wouldn't be angry with her; after all, it wasn't her fault that everything that could possibly go wrong that day, had.

Even if he wouldn't be cross, upsetting him was the last thing she wanted to do, especially since their relationship had just taken a turn for the better.

Somewhere between grading Hermione's perfect exam and Gregory Goyle's disturbingly bad one, Willow resolved to ask Harry if she could borrow his cloak for another nighttime stroll to the hospital wing. If she was careful, there was no way the caretaker would catch her in the act. She just had to remember the trick step this time. Or perhaps take a different route altogether to the Gryffindor tower.

When Ravensdale shut off his radio, which had been playing nonstop bagpipe music and which made Willow wish she could suddenly go deaf, and announced that Willow's detention was complete, a deep sense of relief washed over her. She sprang up from the ridiculously uncomfortable plastic chair she had been sitting in, eager to get to the common room.

She barely minded having to be escorted upstairs by Ravensdale, paying him no attention as he walked beside her. Her mind was happily preoccupied with the realization that she would soon be with Draco again. The thought of her self-control sprang up again; perhaps she would sit farther away than usual, to leave him no opportunity to attempt to kiss her.

Ravensdale bade her a stiff and cold goodnight, but even that couldn't ruin Willow's good mood; she repeated his words cheerily, and clambered through the portrait hole.

"Where's Harry?" she asked, plopping down into an armchair and looking around at her friends, who were crowded around the fire and working on homework.

"He went upstairs to grab something. He'll be right back," Ginny responded, looking up from the Charms assignment on the table in front of her, "How was your detention?"

"It was fine," Willow shrugged, leaning back in the chair, "I'll just wait for Harry to get back,"

"Let me guess. You want the cloak so you can go see Malfoy again," Ron piped up, and Willow nodded, smiling, to which Ron couldn't help but smile back in response, shaking his head, "You're mad,"

"Haven't you ever done anything for _love_?" Ginny crooned, and Ron burned red.

"Well, I-" he began loudly, looking at Hermione, but Willow was no longer listening.

She was snuggling into the armchair and waiting for Harry. He seemed to be taking forever, and she was starting to feel extremely sleepy. Her eyelids were drooping, and the crackling fire was drowning her in a pleasant warmth.

By the time Harry finally bounded down the stairs, triumphantly thrusting the book it had taken him ages to find into the air, Willow was asleep.

**A/N: I'm sorry that some of you are upset that the story is ending. I almost want to cry! This fanfic is my baby, honestly, but I've had the ending planned since practically the first chapter. It just has to happen, I'm really sorry! I think you'll like the last chapter, though. :)**

**DrallowDrillow – I can't PM you since you're a guest, but I don't think the fact that your name is Draco and Willow's couple names is weird. I think it's AWESOME. :)))**

**Also, I'm truly sorry that this is so late. I don't think you guys want to hear my shitload of excuses, but believe me when I say I literally have had **_**no**_**free time whatsoever the past couple days. ****I'm literally updating this at 2:30 AM, because it's the only time I've had to write.**

**I know you're all used to me updating every other day, but there's no way I'll be able to do that anymore. I start yoga this week, plus my soccer seasons starts Tuesday, **_**plus **_**I start school next week and I still have a book to read, six essays to write, and a pre-calculus assignment to do before the first day. Life's starting to get a bit more hectic, but I will update as often as I can. I hope you guys understand. :(((**


	24. Smiles

Draco stared down at the bare bed next to him, not feeling quite as relieved as he thought he would be upon his release from the hospital wing. It was actually a bit of a melancholy feeling; so many potentially life-changing things had happened when he had been sitting against the very same pillow he was looking at, now washed and fluffed and awaiting its next patient.

"Spattergroit free at last!" Madam Pomfrey announced, clapping her hands together and beaming. Draco turned and offered her a small smile, not feeling quite up to grinning as widely as she was. Madam Pomfrey noticed the lack of exuberance in Draco's expression, and her own smile faltered slightly, "You're not still feeling ill, are you, Mister Malfoy?"

"No, Madam," Draco shook his head.

"Well, chin up, then, and go get yourself down to the Great Hall for breakfast. You could use a normal meal, you've been looking peaky," the nurse told him, and Draco nodded, not looking forward to entering a room full of hundreds of people after he had gotten used to being so isolated.

"Madam?" a different voice piped up, and Draco looked around to see Neville timidly poking his head out from the dressings around his bed. He was in his pajamas, and he looked awful; there were dark circles under his eyes, and his skin was even paler than usual. He scratched his right shoulder, which was presumably where his pustules were located. Draco wrinkled his nose, hoping he hadn't looked as bad when he was still sick.

"You should be in bed, Mister Longbottom," Madam Pomfrey reprimanded sternly, and Neville glanced quickly at Draco before turning back to the nurse.

"I'd like a word with Mal-er, Draco, Madam," he told her, and Madam Pomfrey blinked at him for a few moments before letting out an exasperated sigh.

"Of course you would. Mister Malfoy seems to be quite popular," she shook her head, but turned towards her office door, "Make it quick," she disappeared, the large wooden door shutting closed behind her, and Draco was alone with Neville Longbottom for the second time in his life.

"Er, well, you can come in here if you'd like," Neville offered awkwardly, gesturing backwards toward the area his bed was enclosed in, and Draco was about to shake his head when he realized he was ridiculously standing right in the middle of the hospital wing, and he begrudgingly accepted the offer instead.

"Yes?" he said once the two of them were separated from the view of whoever might happen to walk in at that moment, and Neville dropped down into his bed with a relieved sigh before looking up at Draco with a slightly pained expression. Draco felt strange, looking down at the ill boy; just a little under a week earlier, the situation had been the other way around.

"Luna talked to me about some things," Neville said enigmatically, and Draco bit his tongue to refrain from letting out a sarcastic retort.

"And?" he said instead, and Neville dropped his gaze.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled quietly.

"I couldn't quite catch that," Draco shook his head, though he had heard perfectly well. He just couldn't believe that Neville Longbottom was _apologizing_ to him. He felt a slight admiration for Luna; she had Neville _whipped_.

"I said I'm _sorry_," Neville repeated, looking up this time.

"For what?" Draco shrugged, wanting to hear the boy's exact explanation.

"For the things I said. And, er, for punching you," Neville smiled feebly, and Draco felt the urge to laugh at the oddity of the situation. At the same time, however, he felt a recognizable feeling in the pit of his stomach; guilt was urging him to apologize as well.

"I'm sorry as well. For the things I said," he admitted after a moment of hesitation, deciding it was the right thing to do, "And the things I've done in the past," he added, a bit awkwardly, and Neville's eyes widened in surprised. He stared at Draco for a few silent seconds, then shook his head.

"Bloody hell, maybe Luna was right,"

"Sorry?"

"Maybe you have changed," Neville continued, and Draco gaped, unsure what to say, "That doesn't mean I forgive you for everything, but it's a start," Neville added, and Draco laughed out loud, shocking both himself and Neville.

"Thanks," Draco chuckled, and Neville narrowed his eyes, gazing at Draco as if sizing him up.

"I won't stand in the way of you and Willow," he stated firmly, and Draco felt his heart drop at the mention of the girl he had been struggling to keep out of his mind.

"Yeah, well, maybe you won't have to," Draco said quietly without thinking, and, when he realized what he had said, he stared down at the floor and scuffed the toe of his shoe against the shiny floor, too distracted to even realize that he was creating a black mark on the white tile that would drive Madam Pomfrey mad.

"What does that mean?" Neville asked, confused, and Draco shook his head.

"Nothing," he said quickly; just because Neville didn't seem to hate him anymore, or at least not as much as he used to, didn't mean that Draco was about to reveal his _feelings_ to the boy. The thought made his stomach twist uncomfortably, "Thanks for talking to me. I'll be on my way, then,"

"Well, alright," Neville agreed, settling back against his pillows, "I am feeling a bit tired,"

Draco nodded and turned to leave. He hesitated with one hand on the dressings around the bed, and cleared his throat awkwardly before looking back at Neville, whose eyes were closed.

"Get well soon," Draco forced himself to say, and left before he could see Neville's eyes snap open in surprise.

His good deed hadn't done much to lift his spirits, and he was frowning slightly as he cast one more glance around the room and left. He trudged down the hall, wishing the rumbling of hunger in his stomach to go away so he wouldn't have to go to breakfast. He considered going to the kitchens instead, but decided that he would have to get used to seeing Willow sooner or later and might as well start now.

The downward turn of his lips was due to his sureness that Willow didn't like him the say way he liked her. It was too coincidental that the day after he had attempted to kiss her was the first day she failed to visit him. It had been over twenty-four hours, and there had been no sight of her. The only explanation was that she was avoiding him to try to hint at her platonic feelings.

It was confusing and a bit maddening. She stared at him, she touched him more often than entirely necessary, she responded positively to his confession about liking her. All signs pointed to her reciprocating his feelings, except for the fact that she seemed to be eluding him.

Perhaps he had gone too fast? Maybe she hadn't kissed anyone before, and he had scared her off. He wasn't used to taking things slow; he _always _snogged on the first date. The thought that she wouldn't want him to hadn't even crossed his mind. Perhaps she was grateful for the admittedly reasonable excuse that she didn't want to get sick; perhaps she would have said no even if he wasn't ill.

He hated the effect that she had on him, that his happiness depended on her. It was almost dangerous; if he lost her now, he didn't even know how he would react, but he knew it wouldn't be pretty. She was his only distraction from all the bullshit he had to deal with his in life.

True, he had Blaise now, but it wasn't the same. His friendship was great, fantastic even, but he couldn't be Draco's girlfriend. The thought made him grin for a split second, before he realized what he was doing.

He had been smiling just now, and it wasn't because of Willow. _Longbottom _had also made him laugh. Even Luna had won him a few moments of unexpected happiness.

_Maybe I don't __really __need her_, he thought to himself as he neared the doors to the Great Hall. He kept repeating it to himself, over and over, and it built up his strength. He walked through the entrance and turned towards the Slytherin table, ignoring all the curious looks he was getting, and his resolve was even strong enough to keep him from looking over at the Gryffindor table.

That is, until he walked past a couple of Hufflepuffs who also happened to be horrid whisperers.

"I heard he's been going with a Gryffindor," one of the girls attempted to say quietly.

"_Who?" _the other asked, sounding awed.

"I wish I knew," the first girl sighed, then made a small choking noise when she realized Draco was standing frozen right behind her. She and her friend quickly gathered up their belongings and rushed farther away, giggling loudly about being eavesdropped on by the person they were gossiping about.

Draco wondered who had started the rumor that he and Willow were dating and why, and, his composure breaking, he turned his head ever so slightly to look over at where she was sitting with the other Gryffindors.

He knew immediately that he made a mistake. Just seeing her, smiling, laughing, made him want to run over and beg for forgiveness for whatever he had done wrong. She punched Harry Potter lightly in the arm, which, from based on Draco's previous experiences, was surely an attempt to be flirtatious, and his breathing quickened and his scowl deepened.

Feeling foolish and horrifically red-faced, he was about to turn back when, feeling eyes on her, Willow looked up. For a moment she looked surprised, then confused, then…happy? She beamed at him from across the room and, without a word to her friends, stood up and rounded the corner of the table.

Suddenly incapable of making any movement, Draco watched, his heart beating erratically, as she strode up to him at a brisk pace, stopping when they were a mere foot apart.

"Hello," she said shyly, rocking slightly on the balls of her feet.

"Hello," Draco repeated, feeling his throat go dry.

"All healthy now?" she asked, and took a step closer to him. Draco could feel the gaze of just about every person in the Great Hall boring into him, and, unless it was his own imagination, the loud chatter seemed to be dying down.

"Yes," Draco responded, and Willow's eyes brightened. She took another step forward.

"I'm sorry I couldn't come visit you yesterday. Things happened," she smiled sadly.

"What kind of things?" Draco choked out. She was so close now that he could practically count the individual hairs on her head.

"How about I tell you later?" she whispered, and before Draco knew what was happening, she was closing the space between them. Her arms wrapped around her neck and he was enveloped in her rose-and-jasmine scent for only a moment before she stood on her toes and touched her lips to his; at that moment, all of his senses disappeared.

Everyone in the Great Hall went silent, or perhaps he just drowned out all of their voices. He couldn't think or feel anything other than her, and how she was kissing him with more feeling than he could have ever had hoped for. He had hundreds of kisses in his life, but none of them even came close to this. His initial thought that she had never snogged anyone before disappeared; she knew what she was doing, and Draco almost felt like he was floating.

When she finally pulled away, she kept her fingers interlocked behind his neck and he realized he had one hand around her waist and the other in her hair. He kept them like that, changing their position only to pull her tighter to him. She gazed up at him with a smile on her lips, and Draco could hardly believe that this was the same girl that had caused him so much grief in the beginning of the year. Now, he couldn't even imagine going a day of his life without kissing her again.

"Everyone's staring at us," Draco told her, hearing hushed whispers of incredulity all around the room.

"I don't really give a damn," she laughed.

She kissed him once more, and there was a different thought in Draco's head this time.

He thought about his parents, and what they would think if they saw him kissing Willow in the middle of the Great Hall with everybody watching.

In his mind, they were smiling.

**A/N: THE END! FIN! WHATEVER ELSE YOU CAN SAY TO SIGNIFY THE COMPLETION OF A STORY BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW!**

**I'm so happy that I've finally finished a fanfic for the first time in my life, ahhh! :D**

**There have been a few negative comments along the way, but, for the most part, you guys have been super supportive of this story and you have no idea how much I appreciate that. Thanks so much to everyone who has followed or favorite or reviewed. :)))**

**I do have one request…this is currently at 97 reviews, and it's my goal to reach 100. So if everyone could please review this last chapter, even if it's just a word or two, I would be eternally grateful. ;)**

**Thanks again to everyone! :')**

**(Also, if you're looking for a new story to read, I'm currently writing a Marauder fic. Feel free to check that out!)**


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